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TWELVE LECTURES 
I 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN, 



RISE AND PROGRESS OF PHILOSOPHY. 



ALEXANDER KINMONT, A. M. 



WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 



Philosophise autem objectum triplex, Deus, natura, homo. — Bacon. 

Homo esset, per quem Deus transeat in naturam, seu per quem natura possit ascendere ad Deum. 
Perfectio naturae dependet a perfectione hominis; Deus enim naturae stator non aliter mundum disponit, 
quam quale est medium seu homo, per quem cum mundo communicat.— Swedenborc. 



CINCINNATI: 
PUBLISHED BY U. P. JAMES, 26 PEARL STREET. 

1839. 



K <r 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1839, 

BY W. HOOPER, 

In the Clerk's Office for the District Court of Ohio. 



R. P. BROOltS, PRINTER, 
No. 1 Baker-street. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The late Mr. Kinmont, during the winter of 1837-8, 
delivered, in public, the lectures which comprise this 
volume. At the close of the course, his audience, desirous 
that the result of so much labor, experience, and patient 
research, should not perish with its utterance, or be limited 
to the impressions upon a few minds, presented, with their 
acknowledgments of high gratification, a request that he 
would favor them with a copy for publication. To this 
he reluctantly yielded, and applied the leisure which his 
daily avocations permitted to transcribing them ; a task 
which he had scarcely completed, when he was summoned, 
we doubt not, to higher and more exalted appointments. 

Under these circumstances, it may be doubted whether 
they would have been given to the world, had not the 
public, or at least that portion of them who best knew his 
worth, appreciated his talents, and most acutely felt his 
loss, demanded some mirror of his mind, some transcript 
of his natural graces and attainments. To them, then, the 
work is dedicated, and appears under their auspices ; but 
not without a deep sense, on the part of those to whom 
was committed its supervision through the press, that 



" r ADVERTISEMENT. 

there are many imperfections which would not have exist- 
ed, had it received the last touch and finish of the artist. 

The lectures, in their present form, are little more than 
outlines of the subjects discussed on the occasion of their 
delivery — each having been introduced by an extempo- 
raneous exordium of fervid and impassioned eloquence, 
which few who heard will ever cease to remember. It is 
known to have been the author's intention, had he lived, 
to have appended copious notes, a deficiency which it is 
now impossible to supply. 

The style is natural to Mr. Kinmont, the peculiar dress 
of his mind, and may not be in correspondence with the 
fashion which prevails ; with this it has not been deemed 
prudent in any manner to interfere, the desire being to 
present a just copy of the original. His mind, from his 
intimate acquaintance with, and passionate fondness for, 
the writings of antiquity, became moulded and fashioned 
by them ; and the same reasons which led him to those 
fountains (natural ones at least) of thought and feeling, 
for ideas and sentiments which you seek almost in vain in 
the extended commentaries of the day, inclined him to 
disregard and dislike the affectation and formality of 
modern compositions. 

If the reader should not discover, on the perusal of these 
lectures, any truth or fact with which he was not before 
acquainted, it is believed he will meet many in a new 
guise, exhibited under different phases and aspects — he 
will find original views of truth, which are in fact new 
truths, in the same sense as every plant that is produced, 
or child that is born, is a new idea — a fresh expression of 
the wisdom and goodness of the Creator. The captious 



ADVERTISEMENT. V 

critic may perhaps find much to condemn, a wide occa- 
sion for the display of his book-learning, vanity, and 
opinionative conceit; yet it is hoped the sincere searcher 
after truth will not " be sent empty away." 

But as it is not our purpose to present a review, or 
anticipate the judgment of others by expressing our own 
of the merits of the work, we close by the adoption in all 
sincerity of the maxim of the author — the same which 
influenced his higher pursuits and encouraged hisT-mm- 
bier duties : — 

Sit gloriaa Dei, et utilitati hominum 



CONTENTS. 



Biographical Sketch of the Author, 1 

LECTURE I. 

On Man considered as a Unit, 17 

LECTURE II. 
On the Limits and Orders of Nature, 39 

LECTURE III. 
On Language — Its Origin and Use, 65 

LECTURE IV. 

St. Augustine and Baron Cuvier, or the meeting of the Fifth 

and Nineteenth Centuries, 91 

LECTURE V. 

On the predominance of the Religious Sentiment in the Early 

Ages, 117 

LECTURE VI. 
On Ancient Religion and Modern Science, 141 

LECTURE VII. 

On the Origin and Perpetuation of Natural Races of Mankind, 167 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

LECTURE VIII. 
On the Unity in Variety of the Human Race, 201 

LECTURE IX. 
Un the Character of the Ancient Germans, 235 

LECTURE X. 

On the Man of America — Spanish and English, ..... 265 

LECTURE XL 
On the Arts and Commerce of the Phoenicians, 293 

LECTURE XII. 
On the Elements of American Civilization, ...... 323 



SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR'S LIFE. 



Alexander Kinmont was born January 5th, 1799, in the parish of 
Marytown, three miles west from Montrose, in Angusshire, Scot- 
land. His parents were members of the Presbyterian church; — 
placed in very humble circumstances, they were extremely frugal 
and industrious, and remarkable for their exemplary piety and inde- 
pendence of character. His father, who is represented as having 
been of a kind and gentle disposition, and a truly devout man, early 
impressed upon his son the same reverence for the Sacred Scriptures 
which he himself felt and acknowledged. He inculcated especially 
upon him, at a very tender age, implicit obedience to the Ten Com- 
mandments, urging it by the consideration, that they had been writ- 
ten by the finger of God himself. The impression thus stamped 
upon the forming mind of his child, was never forgotten or effaced. 
Inheriting from his parents the most inflexible honesty and indepen- 
dence of spirit, he was remarkable in infancy, for his courage, — ex- 
hibiting no signs of fear, in common with other children. Nor was 
he less marked for his quick observation, ready memory, and faculty 
of imitation. When about four years of age, he visited the parish 
school with his brother, and on his return in the evening, surprised 
the whole family, by repeating, word for word, the long prayer of 
the Domine, with exact imitation of look and gesture. He learned 
to read with the greatest facility; but soon falling into idle habits at 
school, received from the master very severe chastisements, which, 
on no occasion, however, drew from him a single tear or complaint. 

At this time, the reduced circumstances of his parents obliged 
them to hire him out to a neighboring farmer, by whom he was em- 
ployed to guard his cattle and horses from trespassing upon the 
adjoining crops, — the fields there being all unenclosed. This em- 
ployment, though somewhat uncongenial with his active and thought- 
ful disposition, nevertheless brought him. into circumstances, which 
were calculated to foster and develope an ardent love of nature, 
and a devoted attachment to rural life, which never forsook him in 
after years. He was thus occupied until about eight years of age, 
when his father died of a brain fever, during the paroxysms of which, 
he alone succeeded in soothing the violence of the sufferer, when 
even the stoutest men fled in terror. 



£ BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

He was thus early left to the control and guidance of his mother, 
an excellent woman, of fine sensibilities, and a most affectionate 
heart. Never after the decease of her husband, was the poignancy 
of the loss absent from her mind. She became in consequence ex- 
tremely pensive, and her whole character was tinged with melan- 
choly, the influence of which was not entirely lost upon her son, 
although naturally of a most buoyant, spirited, and cheerful disposi- 
tion. He was now sent to the parish school, where he soon became 
quite as remarkable for his ingenuous disposition and reckless and 
independent character, as for his scholastic proficiency. 

Shortly after this period, an event took place which changed the 
entire current of his life, and placed him in the way of developing 
those varied and useful talents, for which he has since been distin- 
guished. While assisting at a threshing-mill in the neighborhood 
of Montrose, one of the wheels caught the tattered sleeve of his coat, 
and drew in the right arm, mangling it in the most shocking manner, 
until, with great presence of mind, he braced himself firmly, while 
it was torn from his body near the shoulder. To his brother, who 
came to him shortly after the accident, he said, with the most perfect 
composure: — " Never mind, Willie, you see I can do very well with 
one arm. The men all ran away and left me standing; but I grasped 
the stump to keep in my blood, and called for help." He was taken 
to the Infirmary, and bore the necessary amputation without utter- 
ing the least complaint. Under the kind and careful treatment of 
the Surgeon and Intendant, he speedily recovered, and was urgently 
advised by them to devote himself to literary pursuits, as affording 
the most eligible field for the developement and proper exercise of 
his talents. He returned to the parish school; but soon mastered the 
learning of his teacher. On one occasion, meeting with a difficulty 
in arithmetic, which he could not solve, he applied for assistance to 
the Domine, who, being unable to give it, put him off with some ex- 
cuse until the next day. During the evening, with his characteristic 
reliance upon himself in every emergency, he succeeded, after re- 
peated trials, in the solution of the question; but having reason to 
doubt the skill of the master, renewed his claim for an explanation on 
the morrow. The Domine, fairly puzzled, was forced to acknow- 
ledge his ignorance, when Kinmont, turning round the back of his 
slate, and showing him the solution of the difficulty, dryly said, 
" Here, sir, it is." The reward for this triumph over his master's 
ignorance was a blow, which nearly levelled him to the ground. 

He was now about twelve years of age, when he left the parish 
school, and returned to his mother's cottage. He did not, however, 
abandon his studies, but walked daily five miles to attend the school 
of a Mr. Huddleston, a teacher of very respectable acquirements, 
and author of a History of the Celts. Here he made considerable 
proficiency in the Latin language, and also in navigation, surveying, 
and the common branches of an English education. The opinions 
expressed of him, at this time, by his instructor, excited the interest 



OF THE AUTHOR. 3 

of the parish ministers in his behalf, who frequently invited him to 
their houses, and advised him in his course of study, and in the 
choice of books. These gentlemen, who were possessed of superior 
talents and fine religious sentiments, exercised a very beneficial influ- 
ence over him, and he always spoke of them in terms of high respect 
and gratitude. 

At thirteen years of age, he attended the Grammar School of 
Montrose, under the superintendence of Mr. Calvert, an English- 
man, and an excellent classical scholar. With him he studied the 
Latin, Greek, and French languages, and Mathematics. His appli- 
cation was incessant — his studying-hours being regularly prolonged 
till near midnight, while he allowed himself no farther recreation 
than a walk of an hour in the evening. During this period he made 
rapid advances in Latin, in which he was greatly assisted by con- 
stant exercises in composition in that language. He remained here 
two years, at the charge of his mother; but brought up in frugality, 
his wants were easily supplied, and books and tuition-bills were the 
heaviest items of expense. He was now, however, enabled to sup- 
port himself by compensations for assisting the Principal of the 
Academy, and for instruction in private families, in which employ- 
ments he continued until he had attained his nineteenth year, when 
he resolved to enter the University of Aberdeen. 

In most of the Universities and Seminaries of learning in Scot- 
land, there are funds appropriated for the encouragement and support 
of scholars of acknowledged merit. Kinmont, accordingly, with a 
view of presenting himself as a candidate for admission at Aberdeen, 
prepared a Latin poem, and a treatise on the particle re, which, he 
doubted not, would secure him the object of his wishes. On his ar- 
rival at the University, with his friend, Mr. Huddleston, he pre- 
sented his theme to the Master of the High School, one of the 
Judges of such productions. The conversation was conducted in 
Latin, and the Master, delighted with his new acquaintance, unhesi- 
tatingly assured him that it was quite certain that he would take the 
prize over all his competitors. The result, however, proved differ- 
ent, in despite of the remonstrances of the Master. His theme was 
highly praised by the Professors for its purity of style, but rejected 
on account of two grammatical errors. He received it back from 
them, and replied to their delicate praises by an open expression of 
his sense of the injustice with which he had been treated. The 
mail-stage was about starting for the south; he instantly mounted on 
top, and travelling all night, arrived early in the morning, at St. An- 
drews, and entered the Hall of the University in time to hear the 
subjects of the themes proposed to the candidates for admission. 
Making his selection from among them, he completed the task before 
he slept, and had the satisfaction of carrying off the first prizes in 
Latin, Greek, and Geometry, over about thirty competitors. These 
secured to him board and lodging in the University for four years 
from the fall of 1817. He did not, however, avail himself of the 



4 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

privilege for more than three years, during which time he supplied 
his other wants by private teaching. In this interval he ranked the 
first in eveiy class he entered. Bearing into his college life the 
most ardent attachment for rural scenes, and all the varied aspects 
of the picturesque and romantic, which Nature presents in those north- 
ern climes, he was extremely fond of roaming amid the stern and 
wild scenery of his native land; often, too, in company with a friend, 
he would waste whole nights in rambles by moon-light over the 
Scottish hills. Thus was his imagination and heart alike enlivened 
and invigorated. Borne onward upon a full tide of enthusiastic 
feelings, all his movements, both mental and physical, were marked 
by rapidity, energy, and decision. On whatever study he under- 
took, he brought the entire powers of his mind to bear with an un- 
wavering singleness of purpose, and hence he never failed of success. 
In debate, he is said to have carried every thing before him by the 
impetuous and resistless torrent of his eloquence. Always cheerful, 
devoted to his studies, and ardent in the pursuit of knowledge, he 
early secured the friendship and esteem of his Instructors; but no 
present advantages he enjoyed could bind him longer to St. An- 
drews, so soon as he had caught a glimpse of a more extended pros- 
pect of improvement and success in another quarter. 

Fired by the fame of Edinburgh and her celebrated University, 
he hastened to that Metropolis, where he taught in some of the first 
families of the place, and attended the various classes in the Univer- 
sity. While here, he wrote a Latin poem, which was considered as 
possessing considerable merit, and also a Tragedy, part of which was 
sent to Mr. Elliston, then Manager of Covent Garden Theatre, who 
expressed himself in the highest terms of commendation of its me- 
rit, and sought especially, an acquaintance with its author. Elliston 
dying very shortly after, this effort of the Tragic Muse was " con- 
signed to the tomb of the Capulets." 

At this time our Author attended the Philosophical and Theologi- 
cal classes of the University, but he soon became disgusted with the 
irrational, as well as unscriptural systems of Theology inculcated 
in the latter. The atheistical soi-disant Philosophy of Revolution- 
ary France was at this period in full vogue over the greater part of 
Europe, nor did the Scottish University escape the blighting influ- 
ence of this demon of scepticism. Though not perhaps avowedly, 
yet at least practically, the precepts of Christianity were generally 
denied. It was impossible for Kinmont to avoid being affected by 
the moral miasmata of the times, and an incident which occurred in 
his presence tended in no slight degree to confirm his increasing 
doubts as to the truths of revelation. One of the preceptors, on a 
certain occasion, in praying had assumed a very irreverent posture, 
and with his eyes half open, in a careless tone, was going over a mum- 
mery of devotion. At this instant, one of the dignitaries of the 
College happening to enter, the preceptor instantly raised his hands 
to heaven, and changing entirely his position and tone of voice, per- 



OP THE AUTHOR. 5 

formed the remainder of the service with the solemnity of a saint. 
Kinmont was so disgusted by this conduct, that he was led to think 
Religion a mockery, and its professors either hypocrites or fools. Nor 
was this opinion weakened, but rather confirmed, by his observation 
of the licentious conduct of most of the candidates for holy orders. 
He therefore soon abandoned his theological studies, and devoted 
himself with redoubled zeal to the Greek and Latin classics, of which 
he had ever been a most enthusiastic admirer. 

An ardent friend of free institutions, and a decided enemy of aris- 
tocracy and of all privileged orders, he had ever felt the deepest 
attachment for the United States of America, and eagerly desired to 
satisfy himself, by personal observation, as to the true extent of free- 
dom and independence enjoyed under its government. Dreading 
above all things the servility usually demanded by the patronizing 
spirit of the great and wealthy, although his services at this time 
were much desired by several distinguished individuals in London, 
(to whom he was known through some pamphlets he had published, 
and from his private letters,) he was unwilling to owe his advance- 
ment to aught save his own unassisted exertions. With these feel- 
ings, meeting one day a friend in all the hurry of preparation for a 
journey, he enquired his destination. "America," replied he, urging 
him, at the same time, by various arguments, to accompany him. 
" Give me half an hour to reflect upon it," said Kinmont, "and I 
will tell you my decision." By the expiration of that time, he de- 
clared his determination to accompany him, and made immediate pre- 
paration for his departure. One of the most powerful motives which 
urged him to leave Scotland, was, as he afterwards asserted, to secure 
for his mother and sister, a more comfortable home in the new land of 
his adoption. For his mother he always entertained a most affec- 
tionate regard and filial reverence ; and previous to his leaving Scot- 
land, gave directions that what property he had collected, should be 
sold, and the proceeds remitted to her, together with a small amount 
of money he had invested in the funds; reserving for himself a sum 
only sufficient to defray his expenses to America. His wish was 
complied with, but too late for her to be sensible of this proof of his 
affection ; a delirium seized her on the perusal of his last letter, com- 
municating his determination to visit America, which soon termina- 
ted her mortal existence. 

He set sail immediately, and arrived in New York about the end 
of May, 1823. Finding himself without money, but at the same 
time free from all fear of want, and full of his native independence, 
he sold his watch, and sought forthwith an opportunity of rendering 
himself useful as a classical teacher. With his characteristic readi- 
ness, and restless anxiety to be at work, he accordingly employed 
the very next day after his arrival, in assisting at an examination of 
the school of Nelson, the celebrated blind teacher. Finding, how- 
ever, that his services were not required in New York, he remained 
there but a few days, and started on foot for Baltimore. On approach- 



6 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

ing within sight of the Monumental City, he had but a single dollar 
remaining, and his compassion was so moved by the distress of a 
traveller whom he chanced to meet, that he gave him even the half 
of that. Thus, destitute, alone, and unfriended, did he enter Balti- 
more, but his energy and sterling abilities soon procured him employ- 
ment ; and he remained in this city until he had obtained means suf- 
ficient to bear him still further into the interior of the country. 
Learning that a classical teacher was wanted at Bedford, Pa., he de- 
termined to visit that place, and apply for the situation. He went 
there on foot, choosing this mode of travelling, not only from habit, 
but as being most economical, and especially as affording him the best 
opportunities of studying the character, and learning the condition of 
the people, among whom he was seeking a home. In this manner he 
rendered his journey both delightful and instructive. Carrying with 
him a copy of one of the Greek tragic poets, he would often stop in 
some sequestered spot, and amuse himself by reciting aloud passages 
from a favorite play, fancying he could breathe in more freely, as it 
were, the warm inspiration of the Grecian Muse, from the very air 
of this western world, where the ancient spirit of republican freedom 
was again revived. On one of these occasions, while reading aloud 
with all the unrestrained enthusiasm of his nature under the excitement 
of the poetry and the story, the clergyman of a neighboring village 
chanced to pass by on his way to church ; being a good classical 
scholar, he listened to the sounds with amazement, and watching un- 
perceived, Kinmont's gesticulations, for some time, took such a par- 
tiality to the man, that he accosted him with a polite request to ac- 
company him to the church, which was readily complied with. At 
the conclusion of the service, the parson followed up his first invita- 
tion by conducting his new acquaintance to his house, and entertain- 
ing him for several days, before he would suffer him to proceed on 
his journey. 

Arriving at Bedford, he was immediately appointed Principal of 
the Classical Academy in that village, and by his unremitted applica- 
tion to the discharge of his duties, and 1 , the rapid progress of his pupils, 
soon convinced the citizens that in him they had secured an instruc- 
tor of superior abilities, and one highly qualified to succeed in the 
education of youth. His character, at this period, though marked by 
simplicity, candor, and extreme rapidity of thought and execution, 
was deeply tinged with melancholy, verging often even on misan- 
thropy. His social intercourse was confined to a few select friends, and 
he was observed to be particularly fond of solitary walks, and appa- 
rently always absorbed in meditation. He seemed to have no fixed and 
definite end in view; and harassed by the most gloomy doubts on the 
subject of religion, he was at last reduced to such a state of despair, as 
to avow that he could see no farther use of life. A friend, with whom 
he was residing, perceiving the sceptical tendencies of his mind, and 
the despondency under which he was suffering, suggested to him the 
propriety of examining the doctrines of the New Jerusalem Church, 



OF THE AUTHOR. 7 

as most likely to solve all his difficulties, by imparting to him a 
rational and philosophical view of the nature of Divine Revelation, 
and leading him at once to the vital truths of Christianity. It was 
not, however, until after repeated recommendations, that he finally 
commenced reading the Arcana Ccelestia. As he progressed with 
the first volume, his interest in it gradually increased, and from regard- 
ing it at first as a most extraordinary production, before he had fin- 
ished that volume, he acknowledged his entire conviction of the 
Divine Inspiration of the Sacred Scriptures, and soon became a wil- 
ling and zealous receiver of the doctrines of the New Church — ever 
after declaring this removal of his former scepticism, the most 
important and happiest event of his life. 

His character seemed now to undergo a complete change. The 
grim and dismal forms of infidelity instantly disappeared, and a 
new and clear light from the Sacred Word beamed upon his 
mind, and illumined his whole pathway through life. He was no 
longer without an end to live for, but devoted himself with fresh 
alacrity to the performance of all his duties. Desirous of removing 
every memento of his former self, he burnt up at this period, all his 
previous writings, and determined to start afresh, as it were, on a 
new career of existence. His walks were no longer solitary, but 
enlivened by the presence of some friend; and Nature, instead of 
offering gratifications merely to his senses or imagination, was teem- 
ing with fresh beauties never perceived before, and calling into just 
exercise the awakened powers of his new rational being. His leisure 
hours were occasionally employed in the composition of ballads and 
little poems, for his own gratification and the amusement of his 
friends. On several occasions, he prepared dramatic pieces as exer- 
cises for his scholars; but he was never a very zealous aspirant for 
poetical honors. 

The following extract from a Drama of the "Silver Age," written 
by him, and performed by his pupils, at one of their regular examina- 
tions, may serve to exhibit his style in this species of composi- 
tion, as well as the peculiar bent of his mind, and the principles of 
action he henceforth adopted through life. The dramatis personse 
are two brothers: 

1st Bro. — Seek only good. ' 

2c? B. — And where shall good be found 1 
1st B. — There, only there, 

Where those that ask can never fail to find. 
2d B. — All good descends from Heaven : 
Is* B. — Thou say'st most true : 

Seek only good, thus pleasure comes ujtsought. 
2J B. — Is pleasure then in good 1 
1st B. — There, surely found, 

And only there, pure and endurable. 
2d B. — I do believe 'tis so, yet wonder still 

That happiness should come of toil ; 

For what but toil can gain that eminence 

Where fairest Wisdom, as thou say'st, resides; — ■ 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Canst thou explain me this 7 

1st B. — Perhaps I may, 

If thou attend. 

2d B. — I will with patient ear. 

1st B. — There, is Owe only God, the Lord Supreme, by whom 
AH things subsist ; Eternal, Infinite ; 
And Wise as Infinite, and Good as Wise : 
Goodness and Wisdom dwell alone in him ; 
Nor uncommunicated dwell, but are 
That living fountain, whence the Wise and Good, 
So named of men, derive intelligence, — 
Intelligence which ever flows from Heaven. 
But those alone are good, alone are wise, 
Who act with cheerfulness the part assign'd 
Their duty here ; which part who shuns to act, 
Or acts with backward or unwilling mind, 
Is neither wise nor good, nor can be such: — 
For not to act — mark this — is to refuse 
The gift of Heaven, that Wisdom which thou seek'st. 
This wisdom, he who acts, and humbly still, 
Shall constantly receive, and shall be bless'd, 
Triumphant o'er the toils of mortal life, 
And fed with good from Heaven ; — and such alone, 
My Brother, count thou happy. 

2d B. — O heavenly words 

Though rudely spun, flow more divinely sweet 
Than songs of softest music on the ear, 
And raise far nobler thoughts : Wherefore, my brother, 
I thank thee much thy words of sound instruction : 
And now I learn from thee true Wisdom's road — 
That road I will ascend, however steep. 

1st B. — Bless'd be thy choice : one moment intermit not, 
For in that moment thou may'st be undone. 
But listen farther, I had more to tell. 

2J B. — I listen eagerly. 

1st B. — To cheer thy toil, 

And aid thy footsteps to ascend the hill, 

Some handmaids Heaven will send thee, if thou ask. 

2d B. — Say what their names, that I may ask aright. 

1st B. — Some I shall tell, the rest thou soon wilt learn. 
The first is Charity, a heaven-born maid, 
Whose eye so beameth with another's good, 
And mildness such a sweet'ning influence sheds, 
That though thou thought'st it hard at first to toil 
All for thyself alone, — taught by her voice 
Thou now wilt gladly do for her dear sake, 
And for the general good, what seem'd before 
The hardest, heaviest task. Next will appear, 
If thou wilt ask of Heaven, fair Temperance, 
Healthful of hue and aspect, up by dawn, 
And always pleased the most with simplest things : 
None better skilled than she to brave the steeps, 
And clear the ascent of Virtue's rugged way. 
Or would'st thou see Contentment, sweetest nymph, 
And Resignation, with her eye in Heaven : 
Or Cheerfulness and Labor, hand in hand, 
March on before thee, — undivided twain 1 
O may these heavenly guides attend thee, Brother, 
And all the virtues, smiling in their train, 
Which ask thou still of Heaven, and they -will come, 



OF THE AUTHOR, 9 

Will trooping come, and lead thee by the hand 
Up Wisdom's eminence, where thou at last 
Shalt safe arrive, and dwell in peace secure. 
2d B. — Thanks to thee, Brother : no longer steep shall seem 
To me sweet Virtue's path ; — most gladly I 
Will tread that path — that path which winds on high. 
But see, the sun now pours his rays 

From yonder Eastern hill ; 
The woods seem kindled in his blaze, 

Wide glances vale and rill ; 
The lambkins all now skip and play 
Beneath his lively beam ; 
1st B. — Hail, glorious Monarch of the Day ! 

Hail, thou all-cheering gleam ! 

2d B. — So Wisdom fair, with cheerful light, 

Breaks on the clouded mind, 

Fast fly the shadows of the night, 

And leave all bright behind : 

1st B. — Hail, image fair of Truth Divine ! 

'Tis Truth itself that bids thee shine. Etc. 

Henceforward, he devoted all the energies and resources of his 
mind to science, literature, and the education of youth; for he felt 
that there especially lay the field of his duties. During one of the 
vacations of his Academy, he visited Cincinnati, travelling, as was 
his custom, the greater part of the way, if not the entire distance, on 
foot. He remained in this place but a short time, however, and re- 
turned to Bedford, taking his course, as a pedestrian, through the 
interior of Ohio. 

After remaining at Bedford about three years, with a view to ex- 
tend his usefulness, he removed, during the summer of 1827, to Cin- 
cinnati, where he immediately obtained the full number of scholars he 
felt himself competent to instruct in the various branches of a Clas- 
sical, Mathematical, and English education. What were the main- 
springs and ends of his exertions, may be readily inferred from the 
motto, which he inscribed at this time upon the first page of his ac- 
count-book: — Sit glorise Dei, et utilitati hominum. With such 
pure and philanthropic motives of action, and possessed of no ordi- 
nary share of intellectual vigor and manly independence of charac- 
ter, he could not but succeed in every thing that he undertook. 
Having at length, therefore, firmly established his merit as a success- 
ful Teacher, and perfectly secure from all anxiety of a pecuniary 
nature, he was married, January 15th, 1829. 

His usefulness was not, however, confined exclusively to his 
school, even anterior to this time. From the fall of 1828, he cheer- 
fully officiated as a teacher of the doctrines of the New Church, as 
often as his services were required by the Society to which he was 
attached. In the summer following, being appointed a licentiate of 
the church, at the request of the same Society, he continued at inter- 
vals in the performance of the duties appertaining to that office until 
the spring of 1833, when he was invited to take charge of the First 
New Jerusalem Society, as its regular minister, and that he might 

2 



10 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

devote himself exclusively to the various duties of that function, to 
abandon his school. In his reply declining this offer, he says: — " I 
have never felt it a burthensome, but, on the contrary, a delightful 
duty, to explain to my brethren, as myself one of the many, — the doc- 
trines of the New Church. While, therefore, a regularly-ordained 
minister would be able to attend to the ordinances of the church, I 
also am willing to explain the doctrines as a teacher, without fee or 
reward, as I consider myself called upon to do, since the Lord gra- 
ciously enables me to supply my temporal wants by temporal labors 
during the six days of the week." Convinced that there was a more 
extensive field of usefulness presented before him in the imparting 
of scientific instruction to youth, and in aiding to call forth those 
faculties, which would enable them in after life, rationally to per- 
ceive the truths of Christianity, and to confirm and illustrate them 
by the facts and deductions of science, he could not brook the idea 
of surrendering his school, and hence he boldly replied to the remon- 
strances of his friends on the subject: " Gentlemen, the New Church 
with me, is in my school in the first instance, in preachings in the 
second. " 

His mode of teaching was not modelled after any particular or 
uniform system, but adapted, as far as possible, to the individual wants 
and capacities of his pupils, for he early perceived that there were 
constitutional differences of mind, and that each member of a society 
or of the community at large, was best qualified for the performance of 
a specific duty. Hence, he often complained bitterly of the extrava- 
gant notions of many parents in endeavoring to make scholars and 
great men of their children, when they were qualified by nature to 
become altogether more useful and happy in the workshop, or the 
field. "Each of those lads," said he, sweeping his hand over his 
school, " if he be not of solid mahogany, must needs be, at least, 
veneered." Possessing the nicest discrimination in the various shades 
of character presented to his view, he readily classified all his pupils 
under the several natural genera of minds, which he had observed 
to maintain from the earliest ages down to the present times ; and he 
endeavored, accordingly, to bring out, to the best of his ability, the 
striking qualities of each. In other words, he intended by his course 
of instruction, that each one should be actually educated — should 
display all the various useful tendencies and resources that lay hid 
within him. Whenever he received a new pupil, if he were unable 
at once to assign him his proper place, or wished to ascertain the 
extent of his acquirements, he would engage his attention, and 
addressing him on some subject connected with history or natural 
science, would say to him, in conclusion, " Now, sir, write down all 
you remember of what I have been telling you. " And upon the 
scholar's complying, he would invariably be able to decide accurately 
upon his character, and the studies most appropriate for him to pur- 
sue. The great aim of his instructions, both as a Teacher of Science 
and Theology, seems to have been, not merely to impart the know- 



OF THE AUTHOR. 1 1 

Sedge of truth, but to urge, by every possible motive, the doing of it. 
This practical tendency of his mind was not only stamped upon his 
philosophy, but present and perceptible in every thing he said ; so 
that it has been observed of him, and by men, too, disagreeing with him 
in many of his opinions, that even his ordinary conversations were 
worthy of being made public. 

His integrity and purity of heart, and the vital importance he 
attached to the moral education of the youth entrusted to his charge, 
may be judged of by the motto which he affixed over the door of his 
school-house : — 

" Nil dictu fcedum visuque hsec limina tangat, 

Intra quae puer est." — " Procul, O ! procul este profani : " 

" Maxima debetur puero reverentia. " 

Always ready and instant in the performance of duties himself, he 
endeavored to impress a like character upon his pupils. A younig 
man having called upon him on a Friday, and expressed a wish to 
enter his school on the coming Monday, Kinmont instantly replied, 
"By no means, sir; commence this very afternoon ; get yourself 
used to the tools you are to work with now, that you may begin the 
coming week with good omens, and a well-grounded hope of suc- 
cess." His rule of action was to perform faithfully, and without 
solicitude, the duty of the present hour, and to let the future take care 
of itself. So implicit was his trust that Divine Providence would 
dispose all things for the best, when man had done the part as- 
signed to him, that his only care was how he himself might perform 
the greatest amount of good of which his being was capable. To a 
friend, conversing with him on this subject, who jocosely asked, 
" Will you not lay by a penny for a rainy day? " he answered, with a 
smile, " When I am in want of a dollar, I will draw upon Heaven." 
It is not to be inferred from this, that he was at all improvident, for 
such was never the case; but he considered a reliance upon worldly 
prudence, without a confidence and hope of a far higher order, as 
mere " vanity and vexation of spirit. " He was a devoted and 
incessant student throughout the whole of his life, and never suffered 
his mind to be crushed or subdued by any subject of his study. If 
the information he acquired, therefore, served to increase the mental 
resources of his genius, it was no less useful in calling forth new and 
original views, by exciting the activity of his own independent 
thoughts. His favorite authors were Plato, Homer, and the Greek 
Tragedians, Tacitus, Cicero, Bacon, St. Augustine, Swedenborg, and 
Milton. The " Paradise Lost,'-' (apart from its theological dogmas,) he 
esteemed as the greatest effort of human genius, in any age either 
ancient or modern. On first reading it, when a youth, he could not 
sit still, but would start up in the highest excitement, and pace the 
room for some time before he could regain complete possession of 
himself. In after life, it was often the pocket companion of his rural 
walks. His reading was not, however, confined to the writers just 



\2 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

enumerated ; but he constantly endeavored, by taking in the widest 
possible range of authors of all ages, to create within himself a sym- 
pathy for the whole wide brotherhood of Man, both past and present 
— to approximate continually to a view and appreciation of Truth 
Universal. He was consequently a strenuous advocate of frequent 
exercises in translation from the classic writers of antiquity ; urging 
these, as among the most efficient means of humanizing the individ- 
ual who would undertake them. But his views on this subject, embrace 
so much of the character of the man, that they cannot be better pre- 
sented than in his own language ; they are herewith subjoined : — 

" There prevails an opinion, that our times are remarkably origi- 
nal ; and to this I ascribe, in a great measure, that disesteem in which 
classical literature, whether Greek, Latin or English, is at present 
held. To write and speak like no other person, seems now to be 
considered a merit. It were wrong to discourage an implicit and 
unreserved confidence in Truth and Nature ; but that profusion of 
language and poverty of thought, which is now called being sponta- 
neous and original, is any thing rather than a proof of simplicity of 
heart or freedom of understanding. In such careless tvealth, there 
is generally more of adulterate than sterling coin — more paper than 

GOLD. 

" This mania of originality is especially inimical to the labors of the 
schoolmaster. You can hardly now persuade a youth to take the 
necessary pains to elaborate a just and expressive translation of an 
elegant passage of a classical author : — he is afraid that he may lose 
that free and unembarrassed air of originality which nature herself 
so lavishly bestows, but this imitation might impede or destroy. 

"And yet there are few exercises more beneficial, regarded as a part 
of mental discipline, than Translation. A man might pursue such 
exercises with benefit to his own mind through his whole course of 
life ; it is the most profitable way of keeping company with minds 
of a lofty stamp. It is then you come into the closest intimacy with 
genius and taste, and feel the entire divinity of their manner. It 
serves to correct that vicious idiosyncracy which belongs more or less 
to all who write or speak much, and which is sometimes not disa- 
greeable from calling up associations of noble thoughts, with which 
it is wont sometimes to be associated ; but notwithstanding this acci- 
dental advantage, it is nevertheless a positive defect; and of all kinds 
of imitation, that unconscious following of one's self is the most 
unfortunate. Translation, by compelling the mind to run in an unfa- 
miliar channel, is the best corrective of this, and may be safely 
applied at any period of life : so far from deadening the powers of 
original thinking, it will quicken them, by bringing foreign and 
unusual trains of thought before the mind. If a man has really the 
latent sources of new and original ideas within him, nothing can 
repress them. Could the mind of Shakspeare have been buried 
beneath the rubbish of Greece or Rome, — such their learning has 
been deemed of late — and be it such, — he would have risen tri- 



OF THE AUTHOR. 13 

umphant and adorned with their spoils, and not one of all his natu- 
ral glories tarnished. By imitation and translation, one will always 
gain something, and can lose nothing, unless a vicious mannerism, 
which the sooner he loses the better. It is a characteristic of all 
good writers that they are addicted to imitation, for no one can write 
ivell (I speak not of words and periods) who has not a strong sym- 
pathy for and admiration of all that is beautiful ; and the more imi- 
tative he is in this sense, the more original and pleasing will he be ; 
for he will not be the segment of a man, but the whole. It is a 
greater exploit to imitate successfully, than to be original, and to 
invent. Bulwer is a mere original, and hence an inferior genius, 
harsh and unnatural, (any man could write as well as he does, who 
had impudence enough,) but Walter Scott was an imitator, and hence 
the charm and naturalness of his works. We recognise in him a 
family likeness with the whole writing race. Demosthenes copied 
Thucydides, — a devoted copier, but remarkably successful, although 
he wanted range, from not having copied more extensively. Cicero 
copied and imitated every body, — the very mocking-bird of elo- 
quence ; but that is not his disparagement, but his greatest distinction 
and glory : who so various as Cicero, who so sweet, so powerful, so 
simply eloquent, or again so magnificently flowing, and each and all 
in turns ? The man's mind was a perfect panharmonicon ; it was 
because he despised this paltry modern affectation of originality, and 
reverenced the gods and loved his fellow-creatures, and therefore his 
mind was open to all kinds of good influences, and received the natu- 
ral impression of every grand and lovely object. Your original cha- 
racter, your original writer, has no sympathies ; he is heart-bound, 
brain-bound, and lip-bound; he is truly an oddity; he is like nobody, 
and nobody like him ; he feeds on self-adoration, or the adulation of 
fools, who mistake the oracles of pride and vanity for the inspirations 
of Heaven. The most perfect imitator that ever wrote, perhaps, was 
Burns, the Poet of Scotland, — 'Scotia Rediviva would be the right 
motto of his works. The resurrection-bodies of the just will not be 
more their own identical bodies (for this I believe, maugre the 
author of " Natural Enthusiasm,") than were the songs and glorious 
inspired strains of Burns, the bodies of the old Prophets, the Vates 
Caledonia?, risen again. And what nonsense they talk of Homer, as 
if he, forsooth, were original, and the father of all those epithets and 
metaphors ! No, the greatest imitator, I make no doubt, that ever 
lived ; he could not have sung so rapturously otherwise, and of all 
the elder bards too. He must have been a greater imitator than Vir- 
gil, for Virgil is an inferior poet. What poet was ever so original as 
the author of the Columbiad? — Fitit. Wordsworth, I understand, is 
a very original poet; — Does any body read Wordsworth ? None but 
his imitators — and his imitators are read. 

"I have always regarded it as a bad symptom in a boy,' if he had no 
powers of imitation ; he is destined to remain all his life a one-sided 
character. He has no range of sympathies ; he has been fused only 



14 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

once in his life, and been poured into a mould, and there he cools, 
and he will never be other than you see him ; his creed on all mat- 
ters is already formed ; and you no more need hope to see him 
changed, beneath the ordinary genial sympathies of opinion or of 
truth, than to find platina melt before an ordinary parlor fire. The 
most promising boys are the most imitative ; in this lies their capa- 
city for education. You can make Ciceros of them, Demostheneses of 
them, admirers of the ancients, admirers of the moderns, admirers of 
all men and of all things, that are deserving of admiration. They 
are many-sided minds ; that is, you can impress many sides upon 
their minds ; they can admire the vigorous didactic of the philoso- 
pher, pithy, unadorned, — sense and reason, — and they can be enrap- 
tured by the sweet mellifluous strains — "the linked sweetness long 
drawn out " — of the most popular flowing authors. Unreflecting 
minds that observe these vertumni are apprehensive they may lose 
their identity, and end in their having no character at all ; but it is 
the very contrary of this, for it is just such youths at last that do 
have a character, a human, firm character; not that character Pope 
speaks of — "virtue fixed, but fixed as in a frost ; " — for, the basis on 
which their moral firmness at last reposes, is just as extensive as the 
points of sympathy and harmony in their minds were before numer- 
ous. They are rational religious men, for their heads and hearts have 
both been actuated, but never sectarian ; they are mistrustful of their 
own views for they know that truth is a polygon, but the rapidity 
and justness of their survey soon brings them back to confidence ; 
they are sure that truth has a subsistence as well as an existence, 
for in endless variety they have constantly found that unity, which 
is the symbol of her Being, the Angel of her presence. " 

Having frequently appeared as a public speaker with distinguished 
success, he was requested by some of his friends to deliver a course 
of lectures during the winter of 1833-4, on such subjects as might 
best suit his own taste and inclination. He accordingly prepared a 
series of twelve lectures, embracing chiefly a view of the " Moral and 
Intellectual Constitution of Man ;" but finding himself in the pre- 
sence of a different and more promiscuous audience than he had anti- 
cipated, he changed his original design, and delivered an entirely 
new course on the " Physical and Intellectual History of Man." 
Having devoted several of the preceding winters to the study of 
Anatomy, he was enabled to treat the first division of his subject, — 
the Physical History of Man, — with extraordinary success ; and he 
displayed a degree of anatomical knowledge, minuteness of observa- 
tion, and philosophical induction, altogether surprising to most of 
his audience. But in the fall of the year following, he was brought 
still more prominently and favorably before the public by his elo- 
quent and successful defence of the Ancient Classics, against the 
assaults of the distinguished Mr. Grimke, of South Carolina. This 
gentleman had commenced a war of extermination against the wri- 
tings of antiquity, and with no inconsiderable success, was urging 



OF THE AUTHOR. 15 

upon the public their rejection from a course of liberal education. 
The College of Teachers of the Mississippi Valley — an association 
which Kinmont had been highly instrumental in establishing — was 
at this time holding its annual session at Cincinnati; and here it was 
that this champion of an exclusively American education encoun- 
tered Kinmont in debate on the very subject nearest to his heart. 
None who were present at this conflict, (and it is estimated that there 
were near two thousand,) will ever forget the perfect tempest of elo- 
quence which Kinmont poured forth on the head of his antagonist; 
it was in vain to resist so Demosthenean a charge; his forces were 
completely dissipated, and have never since been rallied. 

About this period, Kinmont resumed (after having laid aside for 
nearly two years) the office of expounding the Sacred Scriptures, 
and directing the services of religious worship, in behalf of a con- 
siderable number of individuals, who formed a second Society of the 
New Church in Cincinnati. He continued in the regular perform- 
ance of the duties of this office from that time onward to the close 
of his life. 

During the winter of 1837-8, he delivered his last course of lec- 
tures on the "Natural History of Man," which gave such universal 
gratification to his audience, that he was immediately requested to 
prepare a copy for publication; but this he could not find leisure to 
do before the subsequent summer. Retiring to the country during 
the annual vacation of his school in August, he employed himself in 
revising and correcting these lectures for the press, and had scarcely 
completed the task, when he was called to resume the duties of his 
profession. He entered upon them with alacrity, but scarcely a 
week had elapsed, when he was attacked by a fever, which, after an 
illness of about three weeks, terminated his mortal career, September 
16th, 1838. 

Thus, in the full prime and vigor of manhood, was Kinmont re- 
moved from the scene of his earthly labors; but the usefulness he 
nurtured by the cheerful performance of his duties while here, has 
now bloomed, we trust, and borne a rich and golden fruitage under 
far brighter and more congenial skies. In him were combined the 
scholar, the philosopher, the orator, the honest man, and devout 
christian. He was warmly attached to science and philosophy, be- 
cause thereby he secured the means of his usefulness. He was 
always earnest and eloquent, for his language flowed from his heart, 
and he never meant other than he said. His duties as a christian 
and a teacher of religious truth were performed with the greatest 
humility, devotion, and zeal, for he felt that all the truths he pos- 
sessed, and the ability to make them known to others, were alike 
gifts, which the obligations of duty urged him to present upon the 
altar of the common good. 

But no encomium or commendation is needed to ensure his remem- 
brance ; for if the ideas of virtue and excellence are fashioned in the 
human mind by observation and reflection upon their personified 



16 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 

forms in the acts and conduct of individuals; if, when we think of 
integrity, puriiy of heart, devoutness, independence of character, 
frankness, disinterestedness, and zeal for the public good, we picture 
to ourselves some person, in whom these virtues have been embodi- 
ed, then will Kinmont recur, as often as they are presented to the 
minds of those who enjoyed his acquaintance, and experienced the 
benefit of his labors. They surely will feel with what justness it 
may be said of him : — 

cui Pudor, et Justitiae soror 

Incorrupta Fides, nudaque Veritas 
Quando ullum inveniet parem! 



LECTURE THE FIRST; 



ON 



MAN CONSIDERED AS A UNIT. 



Design of these Lectures. — Uses and objects of Anthropology. — Just ideas im- 
peded by partial and disconnected views, and discussions of the notional 
man of Philosophy and not the Idea of the Divine. Mind. — Man to be 
studied in his Mind, his Body, and his Actions, the Human Trinity. — Gene- 
ral view of him in the person of his History or Forthgoing — His Body, and 
thence his Mind. — Traces of the character of the Inward Man, upon its 
type, the body, not to be disregarded. — Natural impression of oneness, as to 
the organization of the Body. — Reasoning unaided by experience, utterly 
incapable of ascertaining its complex organization. — Bacon's first aphorism, 
illustrated. — Whence does that method of observation and induction become 
necessary to us? — Propriety of conjecture here with certain restrictions. — 
Passage from the Scientific to the Mystical — Application. — Probable adapta- 
tion of the Nature within and without us — Hence, Nature is primarily epito- 
mized on the Soul of Man : and the laws impressed upon it a priori, are, 
subsequent to birth, inculcated in a reverse method, a posterioribus ad priora. 
— Use of Theory. — Presentation of a theory, on this subject, from a Latin 
work of the last century. — Ancient mythus. — Reflections suggested thereby. 
— Formation of rational Ideas. — Conclusion. 

The science of human nature, which, to designate 
by a learned name, we might call Anthropology, is 
chiefly valuable as an introduction to the science of 
Deity, or divine nature, now familiarly known by the 
received term Theology. Man, we are informed, is 
made in " the image and likeness of God," (in which 

3 



18 LECTURE THE FIRST. 

words are contained more things than volumes could 
express), hut if this be so, (and it is,) it would seem 
the part of wisdom, as well as of modesty, first dili- 
gently to make ourselves acquainted with human na- 
ture, before we begin to discourse, at least, on divine 
nature, for to know it, and revere it, and humbly to 
adore it, is not only the duty, but the very first duty 
of Man. 

A fonte principium; — from this fountain, and liv- 
ing source of all right thoughts and pure desires, 
may every sentiment and idea of our lectures proceed. 
But with this acknowledgment and ascription of Good 
to its only origin, let us forthwith descend to a lower 
theme, and try whether we cannot in " the image and 
likeness," trace some of the more majestic lineaments of 
the original. For I do not intend in these lectures to 
deliver any formal science of human nature, far less 
any theory, which might indeed deserve the learned 
name of Anthropology ; for such theory or perfect sci- 
ence, I imagine, would be premature still, by many 
hundreds of centuries ; for after the lapse of the entire 
historical period of three thousand years, human nature, 
it seems to me, has not yet revealed the millionth part 
of its secrets or latent energies ; — all I intend, then, is 
but sketches, chiefly historical ones, of human nature, 
and these too not more in the character of a teacher, 
than as myself a learner ; — for in bringing together, in 
the form of lectures, as time and circumstances will 
permit, such notices of Man's natural history, as I can 
collect, or have noted, placing, as it were, the different 
parts of the subject in juxta-position, however remote 
in time or place, we may be able to make certain use- 
ful inferences, or see, at least, the dawnings, of certain 
grand conclusions, which will conduct to the Christian 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 19 

Religion, not through tradition or pre-judgment, but 
through fact, experience, and rational demonstration. 

Just and adequate conceptions of Human Nature, it 
seems to me, have been very much hindered by the 
partial and disconnected modes in which it has been 
handled. One writer undertakes to explain the philo- 
sophy of the body, another that of the mind ; — on the 
last division, one perhaps chooses for his theme the 
intellectual, another the moral powers; — the physical 
history, in like manner, is separated from the civil his- 
tory; and thus, although much has been well written 
on all these various subjects, yet no general or con- 
nected view is presented of the Whole Man. To 
attempt such a view indeed, would be a gigantic en- 
terprise, and such perhaps as we may despair to see 
accomplished by any one person ; — but still those, who 
would entertain just, if not very systematic ideas re- 
specting man, should, at least, combine all the various 
subjects together in their thoughts, if not in their 
modes of treating them, and that whole, which will at 
last arise before their minds, will doubtless be more 
true to nature, if not to system, than the views which 
a more regular discussion, or artificial contemplation of 
the subject might ever suggest to them. For, as Bacon 
has pithily observed, non ieve quiddam interest, inter 
humanx mentis idola et divinse mentis ideas, — the dif- 
ference is not small, between the idols of the human 
mind and the ideas of the divine mind, that is, 
between the notions and arbitrary landmarks of Men, 
instituted on nature, and those veritable distinctions 
and signatures which are originally impressed upon her. 

And these arbitrary and notional distinctions have 
not only infested physical science, to which Bacon al- 
ludes, but still more, the science of human nature, 



20 LECTURE THE FIRST. 

and also theology. For instance, that universal distinc- 
tion of Man into soul and body, is undoubtedly recog- 
nizable in nature, whatever objection may be brought 
against either of the terms used to designate it : of the 
distinction itself, all savage and civilized language bears 
ample evidence ; it is a distinction, which we feel, and 
of which no mode of reasoning can deprive us ; but 
when on the gound of this distinction, we introduce 
others, and speak of " the immortality of the soul," as 
distinct and separate from every idea of a body, we 
are, unconsciously to ourselves, discussing a notion or 
idol of abstract philosophy, transmitted to us from the 
Greek schools, — and not an "idea of the Divine Mind," 
or a truth, which has its signature and stamp on the 
nature of Man ; for the "idea of the Divine Mind," here, 
as appears from revelation, is the resurrection of Man 
from the dead, — Man, I say, as known to us, — embo- 
died, yet spiritually ; — this is the " idea of God," — and 
the signature of the same idea, as revealed on Nature, 
is to be seen on the mind of the savage, and the un- 
philosophical civilized man, who each in the simplicity 
of their hearts, (and there is truth in that simplicity,) 
still cling even to the very forms and persons of the 
dear departed good and kind, whose very bodies, but 
O how changed, seem to them more beautiful and 
bright than ever. — "We shall not all sleep, but we shall 
all be changed." 

I beg leave then to say, that in the course of these 
lectures, I shall as far as possible, keep this idea or 
impression of Man before me, that is, of a being, to be 
contemplated under two natural hemispheres of dis- 
tinction, Mind and Body, on the latter of which shines 
the Sun of nature, on the other that better Light, 
which is " the True," — but what God has joined in- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 21 

dissolubly together, I shall not, in philosophical notion- 
ality, put asunder; — -for although the terrestrial portion 
of the body resign its vitality, I must still, as a matter 
of faith, believe that the spiritual or essential body is 
not so extinct, but wears the image of that " heavenly" 
which arose. This simple and natural view of the 
subject will save us a world of trouble ; — we shall be 
rid, at once, of all those absurd and vague definitions 
about the mind and soul, which are purely abstract and 
notional, and shall see constantly before us, a real Man, 
at each turn of our discourse, clad in the sensible hab- 
iliments of beauty and majesty, which meet us now, 
and which, I believe, will always meet us in every 
possible stage of his future existence. Si in hoc erro, 
libenter erro, nee mihi hunc errorem, dum vivo, ex- 
torqueri volo. 

Man, however, as he stands unveiled before us in 
that Divine Form, in which we know him, (for we 
need not scruple to call it divine, in the sense in which 
it is the image of Him, who was the image of the 
Invisible,) in this form alone, we could not have under- 
stood him, or seen a legible portraiture of his faculties. 
The mind and body are two, an indissoluble two; 
but the actions are the third, and the commentary, 
which explain the other, and render their relations and 
energies, their faculties, visible and invisible — lucid, 
distinct, and although not completely comprehensible, 
yet measurably apprehensible. It is the kinds of 
actions which man performs, or which he aspires to 
perform, or which he has the conscious ability to per- 
form, which explain the reasons of his peculiar bodily 
structure, or the characters and singularities of his men- 
tal endowments. What folly it is to attempt to unfold 
the reason of these, but from his actions; — it is the 



22 LECTURE THE FIRST. 

energy of Man, his action on objects beyond him, which 
interprets to us the unseen mind, and makes known 
the life and efficiency of the body. It is this trinity 
of Man, (for Man is the image of his God, in whom is 
the essential Trinity,) under which his whole character 
must be studied ; — if you take either person or aspect 
of his character separately, that of his mind, or his 
body, or his history, (his forth-going,) you have but 
a third of your subject before you. If viewed under 
the person of his mind alone, he is absolutely inscruta- 
ble, and hence the barrenness of mere mental philoso- 
phy, a farrago of notions, a tissue of terms ; — if contem- 
plated under the person of the body, you have a steady 
view, but when in his history also, a complete one. 

Look then at his history broadly, — (in detail, I shall 
present parts of it hereafter,) — you are astonished at 
the number of his arts, the complication of his actions, 
the millions of designs, that have been struck out by 
him, the millions of contrivances, which have been 
adopted to accomplish them, — and all that too, within 
the compass of one age, within the limits of one nation : 
— unroll that chart of human history until a second age 
appear, — a third, — a fourth; — the same complication 
of arts, designs, successful or abortive efforts, still ; but 
each successive age marked with new features, peculiar, 
its own ; — what immensity of ideas, what mutability 
also ! — and all this, perhaps, in one nation, in one little 
spot of earth: — take another nation,— a third, — a 
fourth, the same endless complications and variety 
still discovered ! Now, this is an aspect of Man in the 
person of his history, his efficiency, his forth-going ; — 
forthwith revert to the second person of Man, the 
body ; — bid the Anatomist and the Physiologist unfold 
to you this, and he will show you here combination 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 23 

and number, and designs and arts and functions, of 
which the analogies of human history are hut shadows. 
How many designs or separate scopes or ideas of art, 
think you, could be counted in the human arm alone, 
which has achieved the deeds of history. The splendor 
and number of all the artificial achievements sink into 
insignificance, before that constellation of glorious 
divine arts, which have been lavished on the human 
hand alone, not to speak of the other parts of the body. 
But yet these shadows of Man's power first lead us to 
the bright exemplars of essential art; we are led to ad- 
mire the model from the success of the imitation. And 
in the actions of Man, the powers of the body are un- 
derstood, and in both combined, the mind or soul is at 
last, justly manifested. And herein, indeed, is the very 
citadel of Humanity : — it is a " consuming fire," when 
viewed in itself abstractedly, scorching and dissipating 
all the vain speculations, which from age to age have 
been clustering around it alone, to invade its secrecy, 
or to pollute its vestals; but still in a salutary manner 
making itself known in the body, through its functions 
and actions. 

On this type of the soul, I mean the body, and its 
actions, let us steadily fix our attention in the prose- 
cution of our inquiries, and if we can catch thence any 
oracular response respecting the real character of the 
inward Man, or that assemblage of his spiritual facul- 
ties, called the mind, let us not be heedless of such in- 
formation, but endeavor, to the best of our abilities, to 
interpret them aright. The path of inquiry is distinct; 
let us mark a few of its bearings. 

When we consult our own consciousness only, in re- 
gard to the organization of the body, we receive hardly 
any other impression from this source, but that of unity 



24 LECTURE THE FIRST. 

or oneness, and when the mind is sound and the 
health good, this impression is only the more entire and 
unblemished. The pervading sentiment of the unso- 
phisticated mind, the natural language of our feelings, 
(philosophy and observation apart,) is, that the being, 
which we designate I, — is one and indivisible. This 
is the silent and unequivocal testimony of nature, mani- 
fested to our own unreflecting consciousness, — of the 
unity of Man, — an echo, as it were, of the voice of 
God himself, proclaiming his own unity in us. Inde- 
pendently of experience and observation, that is, from 
mute consciousness alone, we should have no knowl- 
edge of that wonderful complication of organs, and 
their functions, which lie concealed within the interior 
of the frame. With respect to that vital blood itself, 
which circulates in every part of our body, we should 
have no knowledge of its existence, far less of its color, 
its aliment, or its uses, but from experience. It is true, 
we might feel that we were strengthened by food or 
enfeebled by long fasting, and hence we could cer- 
tainly infer, that food was necessary to our existence, 
while we were also sensible of an appetite for it im- 
planted by nature, but in what manner it strengthened 
our bodies, by what means it was made to contribute 
to that end, our own unassisted consciousness could 
never have informed us. 

Let us suppose, then, a person of mature mind, well 
informed in all other respects, but who, from some 
cause or other, had never been led to think on the or- 
ganization of his own body, — let us suppose also, that 
he has been of such perfect health, as never to have ex- 
perienced any of those morbid sensations, which first 
convey to us the idea, that our body is composed of 
many parts, liable to peculiar affections, (for it is dis- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 25 

ease, which first obscures the delightful impression of 
the unity of our system, and introduces the sense of 
multitude,) but, for once, let us suppose a person of 
sound health, and good understanding, totally unin- 
formed on the subject, to have sat down to reflect on 
the hidden organs within his own body, their forms 
and uses, in regard to food and drink, how these con- 
tributed to strength or refreshment ; or the air, which 
he inspired, how it affected his system, or by what 
organs it was received, and what their complexion and 
relations ; what definite information on all these points 
could his unaided reflections afford him ? — Among the 
thousand theories and conjectures, which he might form, 
would one of them be true to the facts ? — could his rea- 
son alone, (without other aids,) inform him, that there 
was even such a thing as blood in his body, much less 
that it is circulated in every part of it, in tubes con- 
structed expressly for the purpose, and with that vital 
art, so truly admirable? Could his most ingenious 
reasoning, or most lively fancy have presented him 
with a true picture of the lungs, or of the nervous sys- 
tem ; — could he have seen the liver, the spleen, the 
heart, and all their connections, and relations and ad- 
justments? When you reflect, how impossible it 
would be for him, by reasoning alone, to have discov- 
ered all these wonders, or to construct other than the 
most foolish hypotheses in regard to them, theories the 
most wide of the truth, you will feel the value and 
justness of Bacon's first aphorism in the Novum Orga- 
num, which is to this amount that Man, the minister 
and interpreter of nature, can advance no farther in 
knowledge or in action, than as he has observed the 
order of Nature, exhibited in sensible fact, or declared 
by legitimate induction ; or, in other words, we might 

4 



26 LECTURE THE FIRST. 

say, that the true doctrine of nature, is to be derived 
from the letter itself of nature, and established thereon, 
and, that all reasonings, and opinions, independent of 
this source, and sole criterion of their truth, founded on 
speculation alone, without previous observation, are as 
worthless in natural science, as those theories in theol- 
ogy, built upon fancies not facts, on the suggestions 
of the human mind, not on the solid texts of literal 
Scripture. But Bacon's expression is: quantum de 
naturae ordine, re vel mente observaverit, etc. ; the order 
of nature, observed as sensible fact, or deduced as un- 
doubted inference from fact before known. This is 
easily comprehended by a familiar illustration. — A 
navigator arrives at an unknown country, and sails up 
a channel, which he finds to be a river, an immense 
body of fresh water, rolling onwards to the ocean ; he 
sees at once in his mind's eye, a great expanse of coun- 
try, from which it is supplied ; and his inference here is 
as certain in regard to the extent, as if he had already 
traversed it, and seen it with his bodily eyes : — it is a 
deduction from a previous order of nature, already 
known. 

But in the case of the philosophical adult, I have 
supposed, he is ignorant as yet altogether of a certain 
peculiar order of nature, I mean, that order of nature, 
established by the Deity in the animal frame, that 
system and arrangement of organs and their functions, 
according to which an animal body is maintained in 
its being and use. Here, having no previous knowl- 
edge or experience to guide him, what is he to do? To 
ask of his reason to inform him a priori, how God 
has constructed a living body? — his reason could not 
give the most distant knowledge, apart from experience 
and observation ; the best office of his reason in such a 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 27 

case, is to say to him, "go and see." And we shall 
suppose then, that he follows that bidding, that he 
inquires, that he traces the facts, that he reads the 
letters of this sacred Scripture of nature, and being hut 
an inexpert scholar, he takes perhaps a Harvey to guide 
him, the Apostle of the circulation of the blood, — and 
other teachers also he calls to his aid, and then it is, at 
last, that the true system of nature begins to be revealed 
to him, — facts, new and unexpected, divine and pecu- 
liar, appear one after another, and awaken admiration 
and astonishment. These are no longer idols of his 
own mind, but ideas of the Divine Mind. What was 
his first obscure consciousness respecting his own body? 
That it was simply a unit, that it was an organ of 
uses, and that the organ was one, — and this impression 
science does not destroy, but rather confirms ; but by 
experience, and observation, and analysis, she now 
shows, that this unit consists of many parts, or rather, 
to speak of hidden function, of many distinct systems 
of parts, which act in concert, producing that general 
unity, manifested to the consciousness, of which the 
material type is the body, and the mental expression, 
that person, whom we denominate, 1, — Thou, — or by 
other similar epithet. Among the many systems, 
which constitute this unit, he discovers to his joy 
several, already clearly defined and exhibited, through 
the industry and eagle-eyed sagacity of science, — the 
system of digestion, embracing several minor systems, 
the dual system of the greater and lesser circulations, 
a provision for the distribution of the blood, and the 
depuration of the blood ; the system of respiration, con- 
nected with the renovation of the blood, as a partial 
end, and with other, perhaps, still higher ends, as yet 
little understood, — lastly, the system of nerves, whose 



28 LECTURE THE FIRST. 

function is of the greatest dignity, although the mode 
of operation is not yet connected with any known prin- 
ciple of science. All these, (farther enumeration is 
unnecessary,) observation brings to light, reasoning 
without it, never could. But, what is most wonderful, 
each of these systems has its own peculiar organ, which 
corresponds with the function, and its own appropriate 
centre, in which its unity is enthroned, as it were, and 
rendered visible. Thus, the centre of respiration is the 
lungs, but the action touches and verges on every other 
function of the body, — the centre of circulation, the 
heart, — the centre of digestion, the stomach,— the centre 
of nervous animation, the head; all these also science 
and observation point out ; all these great doctrines of 
uature are drawn from the literal reading of nature's 
manuscript, and established on this basis of experience. 
For, as an illustration, after we had known even some- 
thing of the use and function of respiration, could we 
still have known from reasoning, that such an organ as 
the lungs, was the necessary and proper one to dis- 
charge it ? After we have seen it, and have known that 
it performs this function, we say that it is the right one, 
and we feel, as if it would be impossible, that it could 
be other than it is, but still we can give no other 
reason, but this very abstract one, that the Deity must 
have selected what is fittest, and we say therefore, and 
here we rest, that the organ corresponds exactly with 
the use, and the use with the organ. But still antece- 
dently to all experience, we could not from the sight 
of the organ, have inferred, what was its use, nor yet 
from the use being given, have determined a priori, 
what kind of organ the Deity would have selected to 
perform it ; we only could have said, that we did not 
doubt, that he would select the best, and here we would 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 29 

have been right ; but even this is an inference, which 
has grown with our growth, and strengthened with 
our strength, from the fact, that we innately perceive, 
that the acts of the Deity are all perfectly wise and 
good; so that even this anticipation is the result of ex- 
perience, although grounded on nature itself. Similar 
observations to these will apply to all the organs of 
the body, as, for example, to the eye. What more 
does the uninstructed rustic know of it, but just this 
one thing, that he sees with it, or perhaps this addi- 
tional piece of science to grace his knowledge, namely, 
that if he shut his eyelids, he does not see ; of any intri- 
cacy of structure in the eye, or even of any necessity of 
such intricacy, he has no conception. Science reveals 
the first, that is, the intricacy of the structure, but with 
respect to the latter, the necessity of it, even she is 
blind, unless so far as she sees, that it has relation to 
certain laws of light which have been discovered. But 
in regard to the ear, an organ equalty intricate, she may 
be said to be altogether nonplused, for the laws of 
sound being less known than the laws of light, the 
relations between the mechanism of the ear, and the 
vibrations of sound, are hardly in the least degree un- 
derstood. — But we pursue not these hints farther now. 
Mark then the result. We supposed a person of 
mature understanding, well acquainted with the order 
of nature in other particulars, but totally ignorant of 
the order of nature, as respected the formation and 
working of the animal body ; and we have shown, that 
antecedently to even a shadow of experience, all his 
conjectures would have been worthless; and indeed, 
we might have proved this, from the actual fact of the 
groundless and insane theories, that have been from 
time to time broached, even by philosophers, on this 



30 LECTURE THE FIRST. 

very subject, — attempting to be wise above what is 
done, or rather, without what is done ; — but we suffer 
all that to pass, for we hasten to the second grand 
feature of this subject. 

Observe, the expression of Bacon is, that man knows 
only so much of the order of nature, quantum re vel 
mente observaverit, so much as he has noticed in fact 
and in reason, that is, by rational and certain deduc- 
tion from fact. The first we have already explain- 
ed ; — we have supposed, that our grown-up philosopher 
has made himself acquainted in fact, with a peculiar 
order of nature, of which he was before ignorant, 
namely, that order constituted in an animal body; — 
this then is a fact, and a fact of a new kind come to 
his knowledge; — is it a barren one, or is it produc- 
tive? — I say, it is productive, and of immense and 
endless inferences, which can now be rationally de- 
duced from it ; — now comes the second part of Bacon's 
aphorism ; he has observed in fact, he can now observe 
with his reason. He has looked into an animal body, 
and understood much of the great laws of its func- 
tions;— the animal he has inspected, is one of a certain 
class, species, or genus; but now from the laws of 
order of animal life, in one instance, he can infer what 
they will be, as to their general bearings in any other : 
if a new quadruped is presented to him, after a glance 
at its form, he can tell that he will find therein a 
heart, a circulation of the blood, lungs for respiration, 
a nervous system, a vertebrated column, that arched 
mechanism of the spine, namely, — and in all these, it 
is impossible he shall be disappointed ; the inference 
here, is just as certain, as the sensible fact was before ; 
if he theorises about the specific peculiarites of the 
lungs or heart in this unknown case, he may be mis- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 31 

taken, but as respects the grand laws of order of animal 
life, he cannot. Why ? — Because the doctrines of that 
order are written in palpable characters on every ani- 
mal, and he has read these letters and has grounded his 
faith thereon : his faith is founded on a rock, — on the 
stability of nature, and cannot be overthrown. 

It might be easy to extend the illustrations of this 
great principle to much length, but I forbear; each 
one's own mind will suggest numerous applications. 
For instance, the inferences drawn from astronomy 
are perfectly certain, if the facts are surely established. 
Provided it be established, that the planets are earths 
like our own, — of such magnitude, — and revolving 
around the sun as ours; that the order of planetary 
existence, as to its grand laws, should also be similar in 
other respects to that which prevails here, seems a 
matter of unavoidable inference: the three depart- 
ments of nature, the vegetable, the animal, the mineral, 
are there already either in fact, or in embryo, in 
potency: a darkness may brood over the face of the 
deep on one or more of those rolling worlds still, but 
the Seven Days of symmetrical and finished creation 
will yet cover their bosoms with all the luxuriancy 
and beauty of animated nature ; their Time will come, 
if it has not already ; such laws of creation the 
science of geology makes known to us. 

We seem then, to have arrived at the following 
conclusions : 

1 . That the plan or order adopted by nature, in the 
prosecution of her designs, commonly called laws of 
nature, can never be ascertained in the first instance, 
unless by observation and experiment, with more or less 
of the exercise of the reasoning faculty. 

2. That when such plan or order or general law 



32 LECTURE THE FIRST. 



has been once ascertained, we have an innate conviction 
respecting it, that nature will not capriciously abandon 
it, whatever modifications, for the sake of use and 
variety, she may introduce, so as occasionally to veil, 
but never to extinguish the principle. 

This last conclusion is extremely valuable, and is 
the Peter or Rock, on which the Temple of Science is 
built, the emblem of its immutability, and eternal 
duration. We shall see farther illustrations of it in 
succeeding lectures. 

Could we understand the constitution of our be- 
ing, — our elementary Nature, — how it has been made 
up, and what impressions withal are fixed upon it in 
its first formation, we should then, perhaps, understand 
also, how this method of observation and induction 
becomes necessary to us. But there is here a wide 
field of discovery yet unexplored ; — all we can do here 
is to collect certain probabilities, and form conjectures, 
which have a semblance of reason; — and this is not 
forbidden, provided we do not magnify our guesses 
into the importance of absolute truth. When we are 
sure, that certain grand laws of nature are at work in 
the production of beautiful results, it serves at least 
to keep the magnificence of her plans steadily before 
our eyes, to form some idea or conjecture concerning 
them, for in this manner the spirit of nature, as it 
were, is brought into contact with our spirit, and we 
are improved by the intercourse. For, it seems to 
me, if I were certain that I were in the presence of 
some eminent personage, distinguished for his wisdom 
and goodness, for example, a Plato, an Archimedes, 
or a Fenelon, merely to hear him speak, and to catch 
the tones of his voice, although his words were 
unintelligible, would inspire me with a certain sense 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 33 

of grandeur, an inexplicable feeling of delight. And 
indeed, there must always be certain signs of great- 
ness, which in such a case, strike every mind. And so 
it is, in the contemplation of many of the grand acts of 
nature ; we often cannot interpret them, or rather we 
never fully understand them, but still the idea that it 
is nature we contemplate, encompassed as she ever is, 
with the many sweet tokens of greatness and benevo- 
lence, makes a good, a just and rational impression 
always, upon our hearts and understandings. And the 
more profound and inscrutable the subject is, the more 
readily and sweetly does the scientific melt into the 
mystical ; and God, if not the method of his work, 
stands awfully and impressively revealed before us. 
And such, in a pre-eminent degree, must always be the 
tenor of our feelings, when we reflect upon the origin 
of our being, and the laws which are impressed upon 
our souls, at the first formation. Say, then, how is 
it here? — is it actually true, that certain faculties of 
reading God's laws at an advanced period of our life, 
are impressed upon our forms, while still in embryo, as 
our eyes and ears are moulded and cast in the womb, 
with reference to that light and those vibrations of the 
atmosphere, which have not yet reached that region of 
our mysterious creation? How remarkable,how won- 
derful this provision ; it is a physical one ; — the doors, 
the portals are formed, and nicely proportioned for 
those guests, that are to enter, — the sound and the 
light; and is it then safe, on this analogy, to declare, 
that the architect of nature, — " The former of Man in 
the womb," — has also constituted in our being, when 
first struck, the faculties and organs, for the reception 
of all those truths and mystic laws, which the soul is 
designed to read, when in the world of external nature, 

5 



34 LECTURE THE FIRST. 

it becomes adolescent ? — And is it a fact, that the pat- 
terns of things without exactly tally with the counter- 
parts within, which have been there, — moulded on 
our being from the first ? And what is this knowledge, 
this science of things, which we afterwards receive 
with such delight ; is it but a result of the meeting and 
congratulation of natures so congenial, and true, — the 
nature within, and the nature without us, fitted and 
adapted to each other by the will of the same benefi- 
cent Creator? Should this be so, or aught similar 
thereto, then the ascertaining of the facts and laws of 
creation, were but the renovation of the impressions 
originally made on the soul by God, — the mutual in- 
aptation of congenial natures, — but that of Man active, 
this of external creation passive. And so all nature 
had been originally inscribed, as in epitome, on the 
soul of Man, and hence on the brain, — on its start on 
the career of existence. And these truths or laws 
were impressed upon it (ere he was yet intelligently 
conscious of them) a priori; and this the golden age 
of heavenly thought, of which now the bare dream is 
left him ; — for ever after, that is, subsequent to birth, 
the inculcation of truth, and laws, and knowledge, is in 
the reverse method, or by induction, namely, a posteri- 
oribus ad priora, from effects to their causes. 

You will perceive, that in all this, I am but present- 
ing a theory, or rather but an assemblage of images, 
and that 1 fail in giving any true account of the forma- 
tion of the human soul, or the reasons, whereon are 
grounded the natural and established method of its at- 
taining knowledge; — nevertheless, every theory or form 
of words or speculations, which can bring the stu- 
pendous facts of nature more before us, the curious 
tissue of Man's original creation, and the progressive 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 35 

development of his soul, is useful and to be encou- 
raged, as you may peep over the shoulders of these 
theories or speculations themselves constantly, at the 
mystical array of sublime and holy truths, which thus 
cast their majestic shadows before them, — on the ves- 
tibules of our souls, as we would in vain essay to enter 
the temple. 

It may not be uninteresting to you, therefore, merely 
for the sake of keeping the facts a little longer before 
you, in a few words to state a theory on this subject, 
which I find in a Latin work, published in Germany, 
in the middle of the last century, I believe, little 
known, and never translated ; and so to leave the mat- 
ter to your own reflections, for our minds seem to 
know more here, than our philosophy can express ; for 
it is a question which belongs to both worlds, — and half 
of it in darkness, and half of it in light. 

The author I speak of, distinguishes the two states 
of human life, that which is antecedent to birth, and 
that which is consequent. In the former, the lungs 
enjoy a certain sweet and tranquil slumber, and the 
brain is the chief or only source of bodily animation ; 
but this condition of existence, which seems to us so 
imperfect, is yet nearer to a Divine Perfection than 
the other, because it is the essential type of creation, 
which is effected a priori ad posterius, the external 
parts being moulded from an internal and vital energy. 
And during this state, foreign or outward causes are 
allowed to exercise no disturbing influences, and hence 
the symbols of the divine ideas on the divine work itself 
are here impressed in their natural and proper order 
and arrangement. The oracles of nature are written 
on our being, as it was anciently reported, that the 
responses of the Sibyl were marked or dotted on the 



36 LECTURE THE FIRST. 

leaves of trees, carefully arranged within her grotto, 
but no sooner was the least blast of air admitted on the 
intrusion of the curious, than the whole was dispersed 
and thrown into confusion : 

" Inconsulti abeunt, sedemque odere Sibyllae : — " 

Very similar is it on the birth of man; — the perfect 
and unsullied order of God, is now to suffer discom- 
posure ; — the lungs and their organs of expression now 
become the external tablets of the soul, for impressions 
are now received from without, and the original copy 
of our ideas on the soul itself is no longer such as to 
be legible; but still it is preserved, although all the 
characters are confused. Hence, the dark state of man 
on his first entrance into the world ; — all is now to 
be done by himself in a reverse order, that is, a pos- 
terior ad prius, which was before so much more 
brightly and graphically executed on his first creation. 
The lungs, which before were passive, now become 
signally active, and speech, and tones, and looks, — their 
peculiar work, now appear the substitutes of the brain 
and its actions, which held before the most conspicuous 
place in the system, and exercised undivided sway. 
But still the lungs at last are found to be but the 
external agents or ministers of the brain itself; — and 
they hold, as it were, a mediatorial office between the 
inward world of Man, and the outward world of 
nature. The atmosphere, on the one hand, seems to 
excite and impel them, as if nature were here gaining 
the supremacy; but the brain, on the other, or rather, 
the soul through the brain, vindicates its title to origi- 
nal dominion, and by re-action on the mechanism of 
breathing, expels all foreign and adventitious influen- 
ces, and shows demonstrably, that the lungs, with all 
their appurtenances, are but its instruments. And 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 37 

here is an image, as in a mirror, of the inductive phi- 
losophy and analytical reasoning. The soul after 
birth, seems necessitated to derive all its ideas from 
without, and to be no longer capable of moulding them 
according to the forms of its own original creation; 
but the appearance is fallacious, for it is indeed certain, 
that external nature seems to impress itself on the soul, 
and to leave thereon prints of itself, as the atmosphere 
rushes on the lungs, and seems to be the cause of their 
action ; but in either case, there is a power above and 
superior to outward nature, and it is the true and 
original power; and, rightly to speak, the outward 
world is not constituted the cause, but only the occa- 
sion of those ideas, whose materials make up the whole 
fabric of our knowledge, and wisdom, and power, and 
that too, a knowledge, a wisdom, and power, which is 
cemented and held vitally together, by that same 
mysterious Power, which even without any act of 
ours at all, originally formed our bodies so perfectly 
and so beautifully. The induction then of knowledge, 
aposteriore ad prius, is an indispensable work of Man, 
according to the present constitution of his being; but 
it supposes also, in every instance of its exercise, the 
simultaneous exertion of a higher Power, whose mode 
of action has been from the first, and ever will be, 
a priori ad posterius, and this power is Divine and 
creative, and indeed alone is, — the other only seems 
to be, or exists from its action. In this manner are 
reconciled the jarring contentions of the schools, and 
the apparent discord of nature itself, in the beautiful 
harmony of the human system, the illustrious triumph 
of divine art. — His mediis ad mentem nostram supe- 
riorem seu ad animam enitimur, quae tunc obvia fit, 
et infundit potentiam: quantum enim his instructi 



38 LECTURE THE FIRST. 

alis ascendimus, tantum Mens ista ad nos descendit, 
et suis talaribus nostras alas implicat, et amplectitur, 
ac docet ideas nostras in rationes, et rationes in 
analyses convertere: id etenim, non corporeum est, 
quare nee id a sensibus trahimus sed a potentia, quae 
a sphaera supra nostram, in nostram iniluit. From 
this admirable constitution of our nature it has arisen, 
namely, from the endowment of a superior and inferior 
mind, acting in concert, that we are enabled, through 
experiments and the sciences, our auxiliaries, to ele- 
vate our souls, as it were, on the wings of nature, 
while to meet us in our flight, a higher mind descends 
equipped as Mercury with golden sandals and winged 
feet, which forthwith embraces us, and infolding its 
pinions in ours, raises us, at length, into an atmos- 
phere of serene intelligence, where our sensual ideas 
become rational, and yield the pure truths of analysis, 
— the product not of the body or the senses, but of 
that Power, which is above them, and influences all 
our thoughts, without ever being confounded with 
them. 

But let us here leave the subject; — enough is said to 
excite reflection. Where facts are clear and certain, 
let us tread with firm foot ; where the process is less 
known, let us endeavor, at least, to obtain glimpses of 
the wonders which are presented to our contempla- 
tion. Let us entertain implicit faith in nature, and the 
Divine Author ; with regard to the suggestions of our 
own minds, let us admit them with caution, but not 
altogether reject them ; they are, at least, prognostica- 
tions of truth, and may sometimes lead to its discovery. 



LECTURE THE SECOND ; 



ON THE 



LIMITS AND ORDERS OF NATURE 



The operations of the Deity, in nature, are graduated and progressive ; hence 
our ability to apprehend them. — Gradation observed in the progress of the 
human mind : sense, fancy, imagination, reason. — Summary of preceding 
lecture. — Ideas suggested to the ancients by the observation of the visible 
universe. — Some philosophers, from a general resemblance, have classed 
Man with animals; others have considered animals machines. — Scientific 
analyses are but indications of things, not the things. — Limits sacred in 
nature. — No combination of mechanical or chemical agencies constitute ani- 
mal action. — Supremacy of the animal over these. — Review. — That as animals, 
by virtue of the laws of animal life, are distinguished from the lower depart- 
ments of nature, so Man, by reason of human laws, should constitute a 
separate order. — Enumeration of the progressive orders in nature. — That when 
any of the lower orders are assumed by a higher, they become identified 
with it ; thus, whatever of the animal or organical there is in Man, is emi- 
nently human : all is Man. — Further illustration. — Supremacy of the human 
obviously marked in the body, especially the hand, the lungs, and the 
mouth. — Conclusion. 

There is the twilight or dawn, the deep light, the 
sunrise, and the blaze of day. Such is the series of 
preparatory events, through which nature, in one 
department of her works, moves forwards to the 
accomplishment of her purposes. And here what 
softness and gentleness, and yet resolution, so to speak, 



40 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

do we see in this natural procedure ; — all is graduated, 
yet all is decisive. There is nothing hurried, yet no 
end is defeated. Again, observe how the winter passes 
into spring, with what contention between heat and 
cold, each meekened in the struggle; — how imper- 
ceptibly then steals on the summer, and next, the 
maturity of autumn. The law is fulfilled, the end of 
the production of fruit and vegetation, and the joy of 
animated nature is secured, but it is through a succes- 
sion of regulated movements. 

I choose these illustrations, such as are familiar to 
every one, and on a magnificent scale, that it may 
be distinctly recognised that Deity (for there are 
surely instances of its wisdom and works,) pursues 
even its ends, according to certain established laws; 
and although invested with omnipotence, dispenses not 
with the progress of means, so that, step by step, as if 
it could not otherwise be accomplished, the purposed 
end is at last effected. It is by this visible use of 
means, and the employment, as it were, of tools in 
the accomplishment of its ends, that the existence of 
Deity is brought at length within the scope of our 
apprehensions, and rendered an intimate conviction 
of our reason. It is in this manner that even in 
nature, after a certain sense, and in an obscure degree, 
Deity seems to be invested with attributes of hu- 
manity ; condescends to effect its objects, through arts 
and instruments, and in definite periods of time, 
clothing itself in weakness, so as to meet human 
apprehension, and thereby elevate human nature; — 
for surely, it is not an impossible supposition, that 
omnipotence might accomplish ends, without such 
profusion of means, or such delay and tedium in 
the consummation. We can conceive, at least, that 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 41 

food might have been otherwise created, and that it 
might have been perfected in an instant, without this 
vegetative elaboration of many months. Such a sup- 
position, or conception, is sometimes necessary to be 
made, in order to fix our attention more vividly on the 
actual law of nature, and particularly on this character 
of gradation, or established series, which is perfectly 
distinct in the physical world, but not so much so, be- 
cause not so well noticed, in the intellectual and moral 
world. But yet it may be seen also in the human 
mind, although the terms to designate it, are not so 
easily found, nor so happy and expressive. Neverthe- 
less, the terms sense, fancy, imagination, reason, might 
serve vaguely to describe the progress also of the 
human mind towards its first, or natural maturity. 
And each of these also, in their order, is the ground, 
or continent, of all that succeed. Thus sense is the 
first rude germ or crust of the fancy, for fancy is, 
as it were, the full-fledged bird, excluded from the 
confinements of nature, and the limited notices of the 
senses, and soaring aloft, unrestrained in the luxuries 
of its new being ; then succeeds imagination, a more 
regulated fancy, that emulates the work of reason, 
while it borrows also the hues of its immediate 
parent; — and reason, what is that, but the full and 
perfect development at last, of all that sense ori- 
ginally contained, fancy decorated, and imagination 
designed into a thousand forms. But reason com- 
bines the whole, and from the whole, through the 
light of the supreme Mind, at length deduces and 
establishes her conclusions. Can we say, that the 
progression here ends, or that there begins anew the 
monotonous round ? There are auguries of quite 
the contrary, — there is the vital spark, the punctum 

6 



42 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

saliens of a new Being, of which each true Man is 
conscious, which forbids the harboring of such un- 
worthy surmises. But not yet is it the proper point 
in our course to refer to, or unfold these evidences. 
We must proceed according to a more regulated plan. 

But still certain anticipations are necessary, and as 
nature shows certain indications of her mature ends, 
even in the earliest spring, in plants, whose buds 
and germs unfold themselves, ere yet the snows have 
fled ; so it were right also, to take occasional and 
premature glances of certain advanced parts of a sub- 
ject, in order that our progress towards the end may 
be the more cheerful and unerring. 

On this account, I opened many topics in the last 
lecture, rather discursively, choosing thus to take a 
view, wide at least, although a dim one, of the many 
bearings of our subject. 

And to recapitulate some of these may not be 
amiss; — a fresh view may discover new features, or 
make a more natural and genuine impression of the 
whole. 

The extent and vastness of the subject was shown. 
That man in the popular sense was the theme, not 
the rational man of philosophy, but the natural man 
of all ages and nations, — man, an undivided being, but 
naturally composed of body and soul, — seen in mate- 
rial grandeur embodied to the eye of sense, in spiri- 
tual grandeur to the eye of Faith, but a man in either 
case, not a mental phantom, which philosophy would 
make of him, — the Greek, Roman, or Scotch, whose 
abstractions are not worth any attention. That of 
this man, so beheld, that is, incorporated, and sur- 
rounded with the trophies of his actions, the living 
and visible memorials of his power, the contemplation 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 43 

was sublime ; — for it is a true image of Deity, which 
we behold. That the number and extent of his arts, 
the tokens of his skill, the vestiges or wrecks of his 
plans, and the scope of his intelligence, as reviewed 
on the page of history, seem utterly amazing and 
beyond all computation, but yet as nothing in con- 
trast with that creative Wisdom, and the signs of it, 
and their number, which are lavished so gloriously 
and so strikingly on the constitution of his frame. 
That therefore the skill of Man has not yet trans- 
posed into his history, the millionth part of that 
art, and that intelligence alone, of which his own 
body is the transcript ; and that he, for whose material 
form merely, so much has been done, and who has him- 
self done so little in comparison, may still be looked 
upon as not having exhausted even the infinitesimal 
part of all his resources. That therefore although 
there is much behind, there is still more before; the 
variety and intricacy of the arts of design, expressed 
in the body, is a prophecy and pledge of this. That 
still this variety is one and felt as such by our con- 
sciousness, — and so entire is this sense of oneness or 
unity, that we have no natural or instinctive impres- 
sion whatever of the number of organs and functions 
in the interior of our frame. That we become ac- 
quainted with these by experience, and through sci- 
ence, and that science even yet has made but little 
progress in revealing or expounding them ; — but there 
are the summa fastigia rerum, — some of the most 
striking features, or even the general systems of the 
animal economy revealed ; — that these, constitute to 
those who read them, the literal texts of this part 
of the sacred Scripture of Nature, — the gospel of God 
according to the animal kingdom, — which we could 



44 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

never have known, but by actual inspection :— that it 
has its own peculiar laws or order impressed upon it 
which are certain to be found wherever the animal 
kingdom extends, and having discovered the general 
type of these laws in one or two instances, we can pre- 
dict with certainty in regard to others. That therefore 
the inductive philosophy of Bacon reigns supreme here, 
as in every other department of nature, — re vel mente 
observamus, — our observation extends to the facts or 
the laws of the facts logically inferred. But that the 
system of laws cannot be transferred from their place 
in one department of nature, to explain or declare 
what must be those which prevail in another, that 
wherever the animal kingdom extends, the type of its 
known laws may always be expected to be found ; but 
to look for them also in the mineral kingdom, or other 
province of nature toto ccelo distinct, is preposterous 
and contrary to the spirit of rational inquiry; each 
division of nature has its own laws, as each animal has 
its own form ; — this vaulting philosophy is therefore to 
be avoided, nor must we seek analogies, unless where 
nature has clearly established them. The absurdity 
of it may be seen in the ideas of some of the Greek 
philsophers, that the earth is an animal, and the stars 
intelligent : — all this is preposterous. 

I next adverted to the creation of the human being, 
as a kind of type or natural illustration of the true 
method of philosophizing, or the necessity of it; for 
although during the formation of the body, while it is 
entirely under the divine Hands, and not yet delivered 
over to the possessor by the First Artist, the progress 
of mystic and ineffable creation be from what is prior 
to what is posterior, a priore ad posterius. the brain 
being the former, the lungs the latter, yet after birth, 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 45 

when the golden age has ceased and the iron age 
commences, the order is reversed, at least apparently, 
so that the brain seems now to depend on the lungs 
for vital action, although at first, it was evidently other- 
wise. The same reversed order is now also established 
in the senses ; — the material contacts of objects, are 
made the first occasions, through which the latent 
powers of reason, and understanding are excited, and 
he who attempts to act independent of matter or natu- 
ral experience, by a mere spiritual intuition, is running 
counter to the stern laws which the Deity has appointed 
for the government of the world, at least in this terres- 
trial sphere. That, therefore, the first obscure rudi- 
ments of thinking and feeling must be laid in everyone 
within the domains of external nature, that the eye has 
to be moulded to perfect vision, and the ear conformed 
to distinct sound, and the touch and all the other senses 
to be brought into harmony and just correspondence 
with their appropriate objects, ere reason can obtain a 
place, on which even her foot may rest, in the external 
constitution of Man; — but that after this preparation 
of the way, the greater and nobler powers of his mind 
are unfolded, those spiritual energies, namely, which 
were constituted in the very dawn of his being, in the 
golden age of his existence. Thus reasoning then is 
still to all appearance in every man a posteriore ad 
prius, from an effect to its cause, from sensible objects 
to ideas, but yet in reality, and in just language, all 
reasoning essentially such, is a priore ad posterius, from 
within to without, from ideas to objects. This will be 
obscure to some, but farther explanation would be 
tedious. And perhaps it will clear up the whole mat- 
ter, simply to remark, that the appearance that respira- 
tion, the external action of the lungs, controls the 



46 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

whole body even to the heart and brain, which would 
be an instance of a vital action proceeding a posteriore 
ad prim, is in fact fallacious, and that the truth is just 
the reverse, namely, that it is the brain itself, which 
through nerves of respiration controls every act of 
breathing, and that too, whether we be asleep or 
awake. Awake, we can retain our breathing ad libi- 
tum, or direct it to the various acts of speech ; in sleep 
appropriate nerves discharge a similar function. In 
fact then, pulmonic life, even although it appears not 
so at first, is still under the government of cerebral life, 
and hence results that concordia discors, that recon- 
ciliation of apparent contradictions which not only in 
this department of nature, but in many others besides, 
shines forth so conspicuously. 

Such is a brief summary of the main ideas of our 
first lecture. I now proceed to another topic, — some 
of the more general points of obvious distinction be- 
tween man and the animal creation, and also the out- 
ward tokens, by which this last stands marked off, from 
the mere mechanical or inert parts of nature. And 
here I must premise, that the subject may seem 
dry ; — but yet it cannot be such to those, who will fix 
their attention on the things themselves ; for the great 
limits and outlines of external creation are replete with 
interest, and none of them disconnected with the 
natural history of Man, the general design of these 
lectures. For according to the most obvious import of. 
the sacred Scriptures, the earth itself was created and 
reduced into order and form, for the sake of its last and 
noblest inhabitant, man ; and it is therefore reasonable 
to expect that every thing on its surface bears some 
reference to him, to his use or his convenience, to the 
perfection of his body or the still nobler end of exalt- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 47 

ing and perfecting his mind. A mere superficial 
glance, therefore, of nature is hardly worthy of us, but 
we should read it, as we read our Bibles, over and 
over again; and even when unsuccessful, still return 
with fresh hope to the perusal. 

It is said to have been Pythagoras, about five hun- 
dred years before the Christian era, who first bestowed 
upon the visible universe, that expressive name, in the 
Greek language ■• m r ^, that is, order, — emphatically 
the order, and the fine genius of his countrymen, and 
their almost instinctive perceptions of propriety led 
them ever afterwards to retain this appellation, '• *•«■/»«. 
the order ; as we commonly translate the ivorld. The 
Romans called the same mundus, which in their lan- 
guage originally signified ornament or dress; in allu- 
sion probably to the profusion and variety of natural 
objects of beauty,— hence the French have le monde. 
But the Greeks originated the true name — the order, 
and the Platonic school afterwards, withdrawing their 
attention from general nature, and fixing it on the 
epitome, Man, began to call him, •• «««<*« wfrfc, the minia- 
ture world, or order in miniature. There is much 
useful and instructive history in the origin of words, 
for before a general name can be given to any class of 
ideas, they must have been often and much before the 
mind. It is some encouragement for us therefore to 
think, that these same subjects, which we are now 
investigating, however meagre may be our success, are 
such as employed two thousand two hundred years 
ago, such minds as those of Pythagoras or of Plato. 
They did not disdain, although the subject might be 
repulsive to their cotemporaries, to inquire into the 
great limits and classes of nature, and what were their 
specific distinctions, and what the everlasting and solid 



48 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

criteria by which they were recognizable ; and what 
the subordinations and concords of things that reigned 
in the universe ; — and what analogies there are in 
mechanical, in animal, and in human operations, and 
in what respect these differ, and from what cause these 
analogies are not identities. Let us humbly pursue 
the same track, nor think it dry. 

There is a general resemblance between the human 
body, and the body of the brutal animals. This gene- 
ral resemblance constitutes what is called the type, or 
standard, according to which they are each formed. 
But the resemblance is quite general, and of the body ; 
and we shall suffer ourselves to be perplexed need- 
lessly, if we fall in with many vague speculations on 
this subject; — among which is this one, — a favorite 
theory of those who would degrade Man from his 
established supremacy over nature,- — that man is but a 
superior animal at the head of the scale, and not toto 
coelo distinct from the other animal creation. 

By such foolish theories has the whole face of nature 
been darkened, speculations not deduced from the cor- 
rect reading of the book of nature, (the second Word, 
the second in point of value, but the first in point of 
time) — not deduced, I say, from the correct reading 
of the letter of nature, or in other words, not founded 
on induction and observation, but in imagined analo- 
gies drawn from the fancies of the system-makers. 
And thus, as there have been philosophers, who have 
regarded Man, as but one of the nobler animals, so 
there have also been philosophers, who have consi- 
dered animals themselves, as a species of animated 
machines,— Descartes, it is said, entertained something 
of this notion, — not conceiving that animals were 
endowed with true sensibility, but that those appear- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 49 

ances of sensation, which we recognize in them are 
the mere exhibitions of certain mechanical principles 
under new circumstances. Again, the different organs 
of the animal body, such as the liver, the spleen, the 
glands of different kinds, salivary, lacrymal, and so- 
forth, are nothing more than natural chemical labo- 
ratories, in the view of their science and philosophy, 
and the heart, according to the same theory, is a natural 
forcing-pump, a kind of steam-engine or water-works, 
to supply this human city withal, with the necessary 
quantum of blood or fluid ; and the arteries and veins 
are the conduit-pipes, a part of this hydraulic appara- 
tus, for accomplishing the grand circulation: — and 
again, the lungs are a sort of natural bellows, born, not 
made, (let us do them justice,) the heaving of the ribs 
a part of their play, so that a due quantity of air may al- 
ways be supplied to the various parts of the machinery, 
especially as among its other uses, it seems also to dis- 
charge the functions of a grand furnace, in keeping up 
a proper degree of warmth in the vital blood. And 
they proceed next to the external of the body, and show 
you an evident series of mechanical contrivances in the 
movements of the various joints and limbs, the mus- 
cles — the pullies, and the bones — the levers, — and pro- 
ceed forthwith to calculate with great mathematical 
precision, the amount of force exerted on each muscle, 
and to demonstrate to you the relation between the 
size of the muscle in every instance, and the office to 
be performed by it. Now what does all this demon- 
stration mean ? — does it go to prove that an animal is a 
machine ? No sound thinker views it in that light ; but 
perhaps the very illustrations employed obscure our 
true idea of an animal, and divert the mind from the 
thing itself to the circumstances that characterize it. 

7 



50 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

After all this investigation of the animal frame, and 
exhibition of its several parts, and indication of their 
uses, and description of their organs, — designating some 
as mechanical and some as chemical in their character, 
and all as acting according to certain known laws, with 
which some of our own works also agree, — we have 
still to come to our original impression, to our first idea, 
and to say, this is an animal, a living creature ; — and 
such and such, on examination, are found to be the 
scientific indications of its existence and character 
among created things. These serve to describe it and 
to identify it to those, who have previously known it, 
or would wish to see it ; but all these chemical and 
mechanical insignia are not the animal, any more than 
the letters which compose the name George Wash- 
ington are the man, although they may serve to call 
up the idea of him to those who have known or heard 
of him, — to point him out among the living or the 
illustrious dead. Accordingly then as we may say, 
that an individual might still have a distinct and true 
idea of George Washington, although he could not 
spell his name, so the peasant, although he has never 
analysed an animal or taken the bones of its skeleton 
in pieces or traced the internal organs, still knows just 
as well what an animal is, as the most profound philo- 
sopher; — and that philosopher never could convince 
him, that an animal was a machine, or a mere com- 
plication of machineries, endowed with spontaneous 
voluntary motion; — he would tell him, if he could 
find words to express his natural and unsophisticated 
perception, that these were indeed the products of the 
scientific analysis of that object, called an animal, but 
that the animal itself, in its divine unity or idea, was a 
very different thing from those mere characteristics, 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 51 

which science would read on it, and note down in her 
book. An unlettered rustic would be better pleased 
with some of the philosophy of Plato on this subject, 
his doctrine namely of ideas, that the living things of 
nature are the original types of thoughts of the Deity, 
and therefore undefinable, than to be told, that they 
are merely those things, which modern science is dis- 
posed to consider them, — an assemblage of certain 
material, mechanical, chemical or otherwise sensible, 
actings, — these are the signa of the things, but not the 
things. 

What then is the proper manner of viewing this 
whole subject ? — for let us not be misled either by the 
fanciful philosophy of Plato or the sensual speculations 
of modern times ; but let us endeavor to embrace both 
the wisdom of the ancients and the science of our own 
days. Under what light then shall we consider the 
subject of animal life, or of animals generally? — evi- 
dently this, they present a series of laws of order, 
which are entirely peculiar to themselves, and to this 
department of nature, and which never could have 
been conjectured by any philosopher, and to be under- 
stood and known must be seen, and when seen consti- 
tute a fresh fount of living knowledge, as pure and 
unsullied and perfect in the mind of the peasant, as in 
the mind of the philosopher ; — the essential facts or 
native truths themselves are but the derivations and 
expansions of them; in a word, the science differs 
widely in either case. The peasant stops short for the 
most part at the first idea, he never stirs or but rarely 
from the primal truth, — the fount ; — he is satisfied to 
know that "an animal is an animal," — he says "it is 
an animal" — without farther comment, and this is 
saying a great deal, and indeed every thing, for the 



52 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

whole is contained in that one idea, in that divine 
name. This is truth, the rest is science, — which the 
philosopher disengages, unravels, and brings to view; 
and what does he do which the other does not ? — he 
shows that this new and original order of nature, 
which is called animal life, is separated indeed from 
that below it by a discrete interval, so that neither 
mechanism nor chemistry can by any possibility ever 
become animal, — by any combination or subtilty; — 
it were easier for a camel to pass through the eye 
of a needle than such a thing to take place. Nature 
has not so negligently guarded her frontiers, as that 
one department of her dominions shall encroach upon 
another. Among the ancients Terminus was a god, 
and they knew what they meant when they attributed 
deity to Terminus; — limits are so sacred a thing in 
nature that nothing can be more so ; they are almost — 
they are altogether divine ; — and curse and execration 
and sterility and disgrace will await even that mixture 
of races in the human kingdom, the sacred limits of 
which ought never to have been violated. I say then, 
that the sound philosopher will perceive at a glance 
that no combination whatever of mechanical or chemi- 
cal agencies will ever deserve the name of animal 
action ; — what then, would we infer that there is 
nothing either chemical or mechanical in the actions 
of the animal body? — no, but that no single action 
therein ought to be styled either mechanical or che- 
mical, — unless in a subordinate sense, but animal, 
according to that maxim in which wisdom is wrapped 
up in a proverb, qui facit per alterum facit ipse, he 
who does it through another does it himself; — every 
thing that is done in the animal body is done through 
the animal, through the voluntary animal or the in- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 53 

voluntary animal; all therefore is animal: this is the 
supreme, this is the controlling idea, — the animal alone 
is through all its actions; the laws of chemistry, the 
laws of mechanism are held in perfect and absolute 
subserviency, they are the servants of the animal, they 
are put under its feet, — they hold no supremacy over 
the animal, but the animal holds supremacy over 
them. It is a law of mechanical nature, that a body 
at rest remains at rest, until acted upon by a force 
directed upon it : — the body of an animal is at rest, — 
the ox, suppose, (the body of the ox) reposes in the 
meadow; — according to the laws of mechanics, he 
would retain that position, continue to repose, — but the 
animal disdains the law, controls or renders it obse- 
quious, — he rises up, he moves, — what a mystery seems 
that self-motion ! Philosophers inquire into the laws 
of the motion of the planets, — can they tell the laws 
according to which that mass of organized matter 
moves along that meadow ? — the peasant can give the 
same answer as the philosopher, and the philosopher 
can give no better than this, the animal moves, 
because he is an animal: — is the motion mechani- 
cal ? — no, it is animal ; — is it in violation of mechanical 
laws ? — no, for the higher departments of nature never 
break down the lower departments thereof; it is not 
in violation of mechanical laws, therefore, but according 
to them, but the motion is animal nevertheless, for it is 
the animal that walks. 

At this point, let us review and sum up; — the 
amount then is this, that there are certain chemical 
and mechanical laws in nature, or in other words, 
there are laws of order impressed by the fiat of omni- 
potence, on those lowest departments of nature, which 
we call the mineral, or organized, and vegetable; — 



£4 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

these laws are supreme, as respects their own subjects, 
but they are circumscribed by very unequivocal and 
palpable boundaries. " Hitherto shalt thou go and no 
farther," is the precept enjoined on each of them : — 
what then ? superinduced upon these is another order 
of laws, and a distinct department of nature, called 
the animal kingdom: — we talk of links of a grand 
chain, but there are no links, (be it remembered,) 
drawn so close, or so cemented together, that these 
three things, a mineral, a vegetable, an animal, are ever 
confounded together; — it is true, certain objects may 
be of such characters, that our science, and skill, and 
judgment, may be nonplused, and we may not be able 
to say, whether this object be a mineral or a vegetable, 
or that other a vegetable or an animal ; but all this is 
the dulness and obtuseness of our senses or perceptions, 
not the confusion of nature: — although we cannot see 
between the links, are we to conclude that they are 
cemented, or even if cemented, may they not be two 
distinct links still, seeming to touch and yet not touch- 
ing ? In a word, there are laws of dead nature and 
of living nature, of organized nature and of animal 
nature ; — and here then is the grand principle, fact, or 
law, which I beg of this audience especially to remark, 
that when inert organized matter, whether animal or 
vegetable, exists alone or by itself, its own laws are 
supreme over itself, and uncontrolled ; but when the 
animal kingdom is built on the vegetable and mineral 
kingdom, or built from it, that the laws of the animal 
kingdom, which are sui generis, are supreme and 
uncontrolled, but such however, as do not destroy the 
other, the chemical or mechanical laws, but so use 
them at all times and in all parts, as to render them 
entirely subservient, (without at all violating them,) to 



NATURAL, HISTORY OF MAN. 55 

the great ends, and objects, and uses, of this nobler 
order of things, this animal nature, or animal king- 
dom. This is a beautiful instance of nature's subordi- 
nation being maintained, without the infringement of 
nature's peace : — the animal laws are supreme, and yet 
the chemical or mechanical laws are not violated, nay, 
through the influence of animal domination, they are 
made to execute some of their nicest and most suc- 
cessful evolutions, so that no where are mechanical 
characteristics more interesting and grand, than in this 
department of nature ; and a geometry and a species of 
dynamics are exhibited in the actions of the muscles, 
which the more they are examined, the more astonish- 
ing they appear; and it is probable that chemistry 
never acts so illustrious a part or so signalizes her 
powers, as when she acts under the dominion and con- 
trolling influence of animal life. Thus nature is ever 
most beautiful in her acts of subserviency and obe- 
dience. The chemistry of the inert portions of the 
globe are inconspicuous and vile in comparison with 
that which is done at the bidding of nature in the 
animal frame ; and even those mechanical laws which 
are read in the movements of the heavenly bodies, 
although sublimely simple, and on that account only 
the more admirable, yet in intricacy and number 
of adjustments, all bearing successfully on one point, 
fall much short of those displayed in the disposition 
and movements of the muscles of the human hand 
alone, to say nothing of other parts of the body. 

The subject has excited the attention and admiration 
of all, from the most rude to the most scientific under- 
standing. For although the anatomist can best unfold 
these wonders of natural art, yet they are not altoge- 
ther hidden even from the most superficial observer. 



56 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

Nay, even the infant, in the very dawn of its intellect 
and delighted wonder, is observed to be especially 
attracted by the tender and delicate movements of its 
own tiny hands and fingers. And Cicero cannot 
restrain the expression of his admiration: quam vero 
aptas, quamque multarum artium ministras manus 
natura homini dedit. Digitorum enim contractio faci- 
lis, facilisque porrectio propter molles commissuras et 
artus, nullo in motu laborat. Itaque ad pingendum, 
ad fingendum, ad scalpendum, ad nervorum eliciendos 
sonos ac tibiarum, apta manus est, admotione digito- 
rum. How perfect must that mechanism be, which 
even in the gracefulness of its outward exhibitions, 
without a profound knowledge of its principles, allures 
the gaze of the infant, and fixes the astonishment of 
the most eloquent of men. But in truth, it is not the 
mechanism, but the vitality which is rendered conspi- 
cuous therein, which thus enchants, and delights, and 
detains the mind in the contemplation of it. 

I have shown then a subordination of the laws of 
inert matter to the laws of animal life : — you will now 
be prepared to see the grand fallacy that is palmed 
off" upon superficial thinkers, by a certain class of 
philosophers. I mentioned, when I began my lecture, 
that some philosophers delight in placing Man at the 
head of the animal kingdom, assigning him an honor- 
able niche, apparently, but at the same time, actually 
degrading him, by obscuring through this classification, 
the true idea of his dignity, and of his unapproached 
and unapproachable unity. Man has no more busi- 
ness essentially, to be classed with animals, than ani- 
mals have to be classed with machines or vegetables. 
It is true, man exhibits in his bodily motions, and the 
analogies of his structure, all the semblances and even 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 57 

most of the realities of animal life ; but so do animals 
themselves show on their muscles and all their joints, 
the mechanical traits, nay, in outward name, the very 
mechanical powers, while the products of other organs 
are of chemical phenomena ; — but what then ? do you 
divest the animal of its animal dignity, and relative 
grandeur on these accounts? — nay, rather the true 
nobleness of animal life, above other organized matter, 
seems to be enhanced the more, for that it can call 
such powerful ministers as chemistry and mechanism 
to its service, and yet still preserve itself, still be itself, 
nobly and distinctively animal. And in parity of rea- 
soning, if that order of nature next to God and his 
image, which we call Human Nature, in virtue of its 
own laivs, which take the name of moral truths, — if 
Man, I say, in conscious virtue and freedom, bold and 
earnest, and faithful, through and in consequence of 
those laws, which are peculiar to him alone, of all 
creation besides, can not only subdue, and govern the 
chemical and mechanical laws in his own body, but 
even the higher laws of animal life itself, so as to ren- 
der them obedient to moral and human laws, obedient 
but yet not extinguished, is he on that account to be 
reckoned no better of, than as the supreme animal ; — 
when yet it is not animal laws in him which render 
him supreme, but human laws, which are denominated 
moral truths, or with more propriety, revealed truths, 
for such indeed they are, and from the Deity himself. 

Wherefore I note the following orders in nature, 
all unequivocal, all connected, but not blended, — if 
a chain, the links at least free, and each of its own 
cast and substance. First, the Mineral ; second, the 
Vegetable ; third, the Animal ; fourth, the Human. 

You may object to the terms, and indeed they are 

8 



58 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

not such as I desiderate, but our language offers no 
popular terms more explicit ; and they will he suffi- 
cient, if they lead the mind to discover, and to see 
distinctly the broad and deep lines, which the hand of 
the Creator has here drawn, ineffaceable, and clear, 
unless when a mist of words and abstract speculations 
obscure the sacred boundaries. But while there is 
here the most perfect distinction, there is, on the part 
of each higher order, also, an obvious assumption of the 
apparent attributes of the lower ; and it takes place in 
a very remarkable manner. 

Thus, if the Vegetable assume or take on the 
Mineral, in any semblance of structure, it is only 
that it may distinguish itself, as it were, the more in 
rendering that which is seemingly foreign to itself, 
entirely its own. 

And so in respect to the Animal, in its relations to 
the two lower orders ; if ever invested with the attri- 
butes or accidents of these, it is only that the Animal 
may be the more conspicuous, in having made these, 
which are chemical, mechanical, or merely organical, 
also Animal. 

And, lastly, when the Human assumes to itself the 
Animal, and in that the two inferior orders, and so 
bears and represents in itself the three kingdoms of 
nature, it is only the more to signalize its own 
supremacy in rendering the Animal human, with all 
its circumstances and accidents, so that, at last, in 
Man — the image at once of earth and heaven, of 
God and nature — there is not a single thing, which is 
not altogether and unequivocally human: man, man, 
man is written on the whole and every part, soul, 
mind, and body ; — and yet the external lettering is of 
animal configuration, — but that too is human. 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 59 

What a field of beauty and magnificence this consi- 
deration opens to our view — almost untrodden ; but I 
dare not enter it with sandalled feet, it is "holy 
ground." But in these facts, and types of creation, an 
elevated mind will see an image of the cardinal mys- 
tery of the Christian religion, " God manifested in the 
flesh," — a truth above the sphere of the senses, within 
the region of faith ; but why it should be considered 
irrational or inapprehensible, I cannot perceive, when 
the very shadow of it, is visible on the constitution of 
nature itself. 

I have now then, definitely brought out the rational 
and sound view of this whole matter, touching the re- 
lation of man to the animal creation, and shall not 
pursue the subject farther in this direction, as it would 
bear me remote from the design of these lectures, on 
grounds purely theological. 

Observe then, we do not deny that animals exhibit 
in their structures, mechanical and chemical applian- 
ces; nay, you may say that all that meets the eye is of 
that aspect: and neither do we deny, that man also ex- 
hibits the animal in his body; but as chemistry and 
mechanics are but the ministers of the animal, so the 
animal itself in man is but the minister of man; — and 
in the case of animals, to speak truly, notwithstanding 
chemistry and mechanics, all is really animal ; and in 
the case of man, notwithstanding the animal, all is 
really human. 

But let us advert to a few particulars ; and in the 
body of man we have sufficiently marked the suprema- 
cy of the human over the animal. And these indica- 
tions are on every part of the body : — the head and its 
elevation, the erect posture, that majesty of counte- 
nance, those eyes that disdain the ground, and in the 



60 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

natural plane of vision, cut midway between earth and 
heaven, as if in his natural unbiased freedom, he stood 
between passion and reason, as moral choice impelled 
to raise his head erect to heaven, or incline it down- 
wards to the earth. But I omit all these characteris- 
tics, as perfectly obvious, and fix your attention on 
three points, the hand, the powers of the lungs, and 
the position of the mouth. Mark first, the position of 
the mouth: it is retracted as much as possible from ani- 
mal purposes ; it is drawn inwards almost underneath 
the beetling brows, on which brows and forehead are 
indented the majesty of thought, or the serenity of 
goodness; beneath sweetly cowers the mouth, with- 
drawn almost from animal purposes — or it should be, 
■ — and dedicated to expression, — of love, and tender- 
ness, and wisdom. Observe in the animals, the mouth 
travels away from under the protection and shield of 
the forehead — and most immodestly and greedily — to 
seek for food ; — it is not in them the organ of expres- 
sion, — it is not dedicated to the lungs especially, as in 
man, and that musical instrument the larynx, but it 
seems to be devoted almost exclusively to the stomach, 
and to the esophagus or gullet ; — the mouth in animals 
and even the tongue are the slaves of their animalism; 
that is the supreme and reigning intention seen in 
their prominences and formation. On the contrary, in 
man the mouth and tongue are noble subjects of the 
lungs, and these of the brain, on which sits the mind 
invested with a garment of light : the tongue and the 
mouth consequently are appropriated to expression, — 
to minister food to reason and the affections, in song 
and sweet discourse, — 

" For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense," 

and this not for herself, but for others; here is the 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 61 

attribute of benevolence enthroned on the mouth and 
tongue, as the instruments of speech and mutual 
intercourse;- — no wonder the Scotch bard should cel- 
ebrate in his mistress 

" Her wee bit mou' sae sweet and bonnie." 

Such is the human dignity of the mouth, the lips, and 
tongue; you see it is a mere lateral and subordinate 
intention of these organs in man, and not the principal, 
that they are also used as in animals, for the purposes 
of mastication, deglutition, and the conveyance of 
nourishment ; — and our reason tells us that these acts, 
although necessary, are only not forbidden; but that 
the passage that leads to the lungs, the larynx, and 
trachea, is the glorious highway in man of speech and 
reason — whose tremulous chords vibrate music; — in 
short the lungs with all their channels of varied utte- 
rance, their wind and stringed instruments — for 
the larynx and trachea are both — that sounding- 
board, the cranium — that articulating hammer, the 
tongue, and all that complicated play and accordance 
of the mouth and lips, conspire to render that outward 
tablet, on which his life is impressed, and made vocal 
and distinct, not unworthy to be the substitute of that 
perfect brain, on which it was all first inscribed on the 
golden morn of his earlier creation, ere yet the atmos- 
phere had greeted those lungs with its first rude 
welcome. 

With the lungs and their varied movements, is con- 
nected the subject of language or expression, which in 
its varied forms and essays in different nations, and 
through a series of ages, will form no uninteresting 
subject, I hope, of some future lecture. It is by his 
voice and his hand, that man stands pre-eminently 



62 LECTURE THE SECOND. 

distinguished, and in both you see the types of his 
reason, his proper humanity. 

Man has a hand — animals but anterior extremeties, 
which, however, correspond with the hand, and much 
more than perhaps most persons are aware of. 

I show you here the foreleg and foot of the horse ; — 
you can apply the observations to the analogous parts 
of other animals. As I count the parts and compare 
them with those of the human arm and hand, you will 
remark the striking correspondence. 

You see herein an impressive illustration of the posi- 
tion in our last lecture : that the essential type of order 
is never abandoned, under analogous conditions of 
existence, but only as the ends require, variously mod- 
ified. Assume in this instance (the assumption is 
warrantable,) the human hand to be the essential type, 
the absolute and perfect model — towards which all 
the other designs have tended as to the consummation 
of the grand wish of nature, and you will see a series 
of modifications of the most beautiful and interesting 
description. And the following points I think will be 
conspicuous : 

1. That the parts correspondent with the human 
hand in each creature are denned by, and reflective of, 
its instincts ; and as these imply a certain fixed determi- 
nation of the life of the animal towards certain ends or 
objects, so those instruments are exclusively adapted to 
the accomplishment of those ends and objects, and 
none other. 

2. That the human hand — also reflective of the 
human soul, and as it were, the material attribute of 
the reason — is wholly unconfined, free and undeter- 
mined in its aptitudes and functions, unless it be to 
follow and obey the constantly new and original sug- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 63 

gestions of an enlightened and progressive mind. If 
we adopt the comparison of a tool, it is the universal 
tool, or tool of tools, while the analogous parts of ani- 
mals are fitted for the achievement of but one or two 
uses only. 

3. Each is equally perfect in its kind, but the perfec- 
tion of the one is universal and catholic, that of the 
other exclusive and specific. 

I refer you to nature for facts in illustration, which 
are abundant and at hand. What need to specify them. 

In these three, then, the lungs, the mouth, and the 
hands, you see striking parts of Man's natural history; 
you see the light of his inward being, as it were, 
illuminating his outward form, and pointing out his 
members, both vocal and formative, as intended to 
embody those uses, which administer to the strength 
of his reason, and the diffusion of benevolence, rather 
than such as are gross, tending to the senses only. Let 
the noble works performed by his hand, and the 
beautiful languages, once moulded by his tongue, and 
cast in enduring record — all of which are intended 
to be subjects of our historical sketches hereafter — 
testify to the divine perfection of those physical instru- 
ments in his body, which the Hand of infinite Wisdom 
and Benevolence has so gloriously fashioned and 
adorned. 



LECTURE THE THIRD; 



ON 



LANGUAGE,— ITS ORIGIN AND USE. 



The material universe is to us the fountain of all knowledge of the physical 
reasons of the laws employed in its economy. — That of these as yet, but lit- 
tle is known. — Illustrated in the intricacy of the structure of the human body, 
which before it can be understood, a totally new and original science must be 
extricated from nature. — The same is true of the divine moral system. — The 
disclosure of physical and moral truth proportioned to the practice of our pre- 
sent knowledge. — Individual effort never lost; — language, the chief medium 
of its perpetuation. — The physical instruments of language — the lungs, — their 
uses, — the primary end of nature in their construction, — traced from their ru- 
dimental form in fishes. — The question, is speech natural or acquired ? consid- 
ered. — God is the author of human speech. — There is but one language, but 
a diversity of dialects. — Illustration. — Speculations concerning an original 
language entirely vain. — The unity of language is from the fraternity of the 
human race, — its variety the consequence and symbol of human freedom, — the 
tendency to variety checked by the faculty of imitation. — True value of the 
scriptural idea of the unity of speech. — Modifications, how produced. — Ar- 
ticulation an intellectual process. — The perfection of antediluvian speech 
was in the unanimity of the moral feelings, — the discordance of modern lan- 
guages arises from the obscuration of the moral sense. — Mysterious connection 

of language and thought Language the chief instrument in the formation of 

the moral and intellectual sense. — Its dignity and uses. 

Geometry and arithmetic are attributes of nature, 
revealed in every part of the material universe, in 
mechanical or chemical phenomena; and are to us 
the signs or indications of the grand natural laws or 
principles according to which the whole has been con- 
structed. But the sciences of these are only the 

9 



66 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

shadows of those divine exemplars, which the order of 
nature exhibits. Our science is indeed but a certain 
small territory, taken in, and fenced off from a vast 
and unlimited region reserved for future discovery. 
But just so far only as we have cultivated science, are 
we capable of pointing out in nature, the physical 
reason of the arrangement and adaptation of organs, or 
instruments, for the accomplishment of natural ends. 
Our knowledge of the mechanical powers, for instance, 
of the composition and resolution of forces, and their 
results, — renders us capable of seeing the reason of the 
origin and insertion, the contour and arrangement, of 
many of the muscles of the human body, and of the 
more general proportions observed in the magnitude, 
strength, and forms of the bones. Popular books are 
full of these instances of design, as they are correctly 
termed; — but it is not so often noticed, that there must 
be an infinite number of mechanical adjustments, of 
which our acquired science, the shadow of the divine 
or archetypal science, does not suggest to us even the 
most distant hint. Nay, it is probable that there are 
even certain kinds of science, as distinct from any we 
yet know, (as for example, geometry is from chem- 
istry,) — of which, of course, we cannot speak, because 
we cannot even form an idea : although we may recog- 
nize the possibility at least, of the existence of such — 
recondite, and latent, and visible as yet only to the 
divine eye. Such sciences, as respects mankind, have 
yet to be. But of those which exist, the sciences of 
number and measurement, the cultivation is still ex- 
tremely limited, and therefore much more of the divine 
arithmetic, and divine geometry may be yet expected 
to fall within the apprehension of the human mind ; 
and then no doubt, the natural reason of many more of 



NATURAL. HISTORY OF MAN. 67 

those adjustments in the animal body will be brought 
to light, as well as of many facts, still obscure, in other 
departments of nature. For example, who can doubt 
that there is a natural reason, (I mean a geometrical 
and arithmetical one,) for the number as well as the 
established proportions of the fingers of the human 
hand: there is a recondite calculus here, which will 
require the ingenuity and powers of some future 
Leibnitz or Newton to unfold; and when it is un- 
folded, will not the science of the Divine Mind as it 
were, become more conspicuous, and fresh grounds be 
adduced for our confidence in the wisdom as well as 
goodness of the Creator? And what discoveries jet to 
be made in astronomy! — is there not also an arith- 
metical reason (resulting, of course, from a creative 
provision) for that precise number of revolutions on its 
axis, which the earth makes in its annual path? But it 
seems to me that there is some science totally new 
and purely original to be extricated from nature, that 
labyrinth of infinite art, ere we can obtain a glimpse of 
the natural reason for the structure and arrangement 
of the parts of the brain and the entire nervous system. 
On this field as yet total darkness rests; and here, 
although we may adore a wisdom, it is a wisdom 
which is unknown, in its natural laws, in this instance. 
But gleams of light will yet be cast upon it; the 
humble and assiduous inquirer will discover some 
relation between this unknown and the known. The 
Divine Providence suffered not the Athenians to wor- 
ship always, at the altar of "an unknown god." When 
there is a right desire, and untiring industry, there will 
at length be the reward of light. 

But I have alluded as yet only to the physical or 
scientific system of the universe, and hinted how im- 



68 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

mense the field of discovery, how few the points yet 
ascertained, and how scattered the cheerful rays which 
exhibit to us the general outlines of its magnificence. 

But there is another system of which the physical 
or scientific is but the basis, I mean the divine moral 
system. 

And here also we have attained as yet but to a few 
hints, but these indeed of the most valuable and cheer- 
ing kind. Our ideas and modes, or rules of justice, are 
also but the faint images or impressions of that which 
is revealed to us in the book of God's providence : — 
but his justice infinitely exceeds ours, and hence there 
are many of its steps and proceedings, much of its 
order and arrangement, which entirely frustrates our 
utmost stretch of moral science, to unravel or satisfacto- 
rily to explain. There are here moral enigmata, just 
as difficult to solve, to our limited moral science, as the 
mechanical or scientific problems in the structure of 
the living frame, are hard or even impossible to account 
for with our present scientific attainments. From 
what recondite principles of essential and absolute 
justice it results, that so many animals should live on 
the destruction of others, is just as hard to explain, as it 
would be to calculate and determine, why all the 
muscles that act on the Jive fingers, should have those 
precise relations and adjustments, which they do have, 
and no other. It is indeed easy to discover in this in- 
stance a few principles, whose tendencies are under- 
stood, but so numerous, and varied, are the data 
which enter into the solution of the problem, that 
while we feel and acknowledge the perfection of the 
grand result, we are totally unable to trace the natural 
steps by which it has been accomplished. We can 
only discover that the work, even perfect as it is, (and 



NATURAL. HISTORY OF MAN. 69 

its perfection is rather enhanced than obscured by this 
consideration,) is effected on essential principles of 
science, although as yet very imperfectly known to us. 
And it is certainly a most interesting consideration, 
that the principles of moral justice, and of physical 
science, should in this respect, agree ; that while both 
are alike fixed, and indispensable, the one in the moral, 
the other in the physical world, yet at the same time 
the operations and results of each in the grand theatre 
of the universe, should be equally difficult of explana- 
tion, involved in similar obscurity and perplexity. 

But in the scrutiny of the moral department of the 
universe are we condemned for ever to be at fault, al- 
ways to fall short of that truth, which we so ardently 
desire ; is progress here impossible, or have we already 
reached the goal of discovery ? No more, I apprehend, 
than we can be supposed to have reached the limit of 
natural or physical discovery. The mines of nature 
have not been exhausted, whether of natural or moral 
knowledge, nor have the human faculties become en- 
feebled, unless by a voluntary despair. Only moral 
knowledge has to be sought from the word of God, 
scientific knowledge from the works of God. 

But as natural knowledge of the works of God seem 
to be extended and strengthened, mainly by the ap- 
plication of such knowledge to the arts and inventions 
of life, — what Bacon calls " fruits," and true theory is 
seen to advance, just in proportion that previous dis- 
coveries have been usefully applied, — as our knowledge 
of the natural structure of the eye is enlivened and 
enlarged by the application of its principles to the con- 
struction of telescopes, so just in the degree in which 
we reduce the known principles of justice, and virtue, 
and honor, to practice, in the perfection of social and 



70 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

civil institutions, in that same degree, will new and 
original views, and as just and satisfactory as they are 
original, be disclosed to us, of the principles of the 
moral government of the universe, and its magnificent 
and sublime details, from that written Word, in which 
they lie treasured up, for the admiration, and delight, 
and use, of future generations of mankind, far better 
and wiser, we can readily suppose, than any that have 
yet appeared. 

Seeing then so wide a field spread out before us, 
spiritual, (so to speak,) as well as natural, let us be en- 
couraged to proceed. Only let us recollect that we 
must look in each field, but for those products which 
it is designed to afford. Let us not seek science or 
natural history in the book of spiritual and moral reve- 
lation, or vainly expect to find in nature a light which 
is not originally in her, but derived and reflected. Na- 
ture reflects the light of revelation, but only as the moon 
that of the sun. But in her the mild light of science 
inheres and is grateful to our natural sight. Let us 
then advance with this distinction clearly in our view. 

The human race is so connected into one, that the 
effort of each individual, however weak, provided it 
be well intentioned, is never lost, but propagated 
to the mass, so that what one may merely ardently 
wish, another may resolutely endeavor, and a third, or 
a fourth, or a twentieth, may at length accomplish. 
The undulations of mind and feeling throughout the 
entire globe and sphere of humanity, visible and invisi- 
ble, past, present, and to come, are truly marvellous ; — 
the propagations of light and sound, wonderful as they 
are, fall much short of these. 

But language is the chief medium of this communi- 
cation, at least the most palpable to us, — perhaps but 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 71 

the symbol of an invisible intercourse; — at all events, 
a most interesting subject, and I therefore devote this 
lecture mainly to its consideration, as it may be a con- 
venient bridge, along which to pass to other perhaps 
still more alluring aspects of our general theme. But 
how shall we treat the subject? I know no better 
method, than that which we have hitherto proposed to 
ourselves, to proceed, namely, from body to mind, from 
matter to spirit; it is an unambitious path; but let us 
creep, before we walk, — and walk, before we fly. 

The organs of the animal body are so formed, as to 
discharge each, several uses; and it is sometimes diffi- 
cult to say, which is the principal. I instanced in my 
last lecture the mouth, and showed that it was subser- 
vient to two obvious purposes, — the one, for the admis- 
sion of nourishment to the animal, — the other, as the 
organ of the lungs. The lungs themselves subserve 
two grand uses in the animal economy, — one as a 
general rendezvous of the whole blood of the body, in 
successive tides, to meet the external atmosphere, and 
therefrom to take whatever is congenial with itself, 
and at the same time, to part with what is unpropi- 
tious ; another use is, that they may be an instrument, 
under the control of the will of the animal, to serve to 
designate its desires. Looking at the lungs in this 
light, we might say, that it was the main design of 
them to enable the animal to emit sound; for although 
the purification of the blood in the lungs is an indis- 
pensable use, yet it is more animal than the other, and 
belongs rather to the organical, than to the expressive 
or mental life. That the lungs are not absolutely 
necessary to the life of an animal, is clear from the 
case of those living creatures, which are not endowed 
with the organ, as the annelides, and indeed all of the 



72 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

insect tribe; it is true, that one of the functions, 
which the lungs discharge in the higher order of ani- 
mals, — the aeration of the blood — is indispensable ; but 
this we find to be carried on very perfectly, for the life 
of those creatures, by means of the stigmata or air tubes, 
with which their bodies are covered, and in which the 
blood or circulated fluid meets the atmosphere, and re- 
ceives the necessary purification or restoration. And 
that even the blood of the higher animals, and of Man, 
undergoes a certain restoration in the external contact 
of the atmosphere through the pores of the skin, which 
thus co-operate with one of the functions of the 
lungs, seems extremely probable, and is advocated at 
least by one individual of no mean reputation; — and 
we find ourselves, from daily experience, that when the 
cutaneous excretions are interrupted by temporary ob- 
structions of the pores of the skin, through cold or 
otherwise, that a more than double duty is devolved 
upon the lungs, which labor under the task imposed 
upon them, and find it hard to throw off the recremen- 
titious matters of the blood, which have been accumu- 
lated; and hence the violent effort of the lungs by 
coughing and other means to disburden themselves of 
those impurities, which it belonged to the pores of the 
skin in their regular action to have eliminated. It 
may then be taken for granted that the purification of 
the blood in the lungs, although no doubt eminently 
performed there, is not the most signal use of that 
organ, or one which cannot be performed at all by 
any other; for the stigmata of insects effect the same 
use in their diminutive bodies; and even in the human 
body the same use is at least partially accomplished 
through the pores of the skin. Accordingly, we may 
perceive that nature in constructing this additional 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 73 

organ — laying the rudiments of it at first, in fishes, — 
in their gills or bronchia, — had another grand design 
in view besides the aeration of the blood; — she de- 
signed to provide and attach thereto an apparatus of 
sound, and ultimately to secure the grand end of lan- 
guage or speech in the human kingdom. For, although 
those animals in which the lungs are fully developed, 
and the two circulations entirely accomplished, enjoy 
much greater activity of life, and wear the marks or 
symbols of a more perfect intelligence, and constitute 
what are called the warm blooded animals, at the same 
time however the peculiar construction of that tube 
which connects the bronchia or air cells of the lungs 
with the external atmosphere, indicates very clearly 
that a secondary design is attached to their formation, 
which in man at last, appears the primary end, the true 
intention, — to provide the means of vocal utterance. 
This is seen most remarkably in that part of the tube 
called the larynx, next the tongue, and which is very 
artificially formed, and clearly for the purpose of the 
conformations of sound. It is here then that the foun- 
dation is laid by the hand of nature itself, for the 
construction of the cries of animals and the speech of 
man. What a dreary solitude would nature be, but 
for those enlivening sounds ; and what clear proofs of 
benevolence we see even in these physical and me- 
chanical provisions for the accomplishment of such an 
object. It is not enough for the gratification of a 
philosophical mind, simply to hear, and listen, to the 
sweet songs of birds and their varied notes, from the 
monotonous chirp, to the full and flowing soul of har- 
mony poured from their little throats. It is not 
enough for the philosopher merely to enjoy the sensual 
gratification of this cheerful and simple scene. It is 

10 



74 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

not sufficient for him, that his ear be merely excited 
by their notes, and the pleasanter associations of his in- 
fancy called up by the sounds; but his mind travels far- 
ther than this, and he does not merely surrender him- 
self to the reverie of pleasant sensations, nor yet with 
a blind religious awe, is he contented merely to say that 
God has provided all this fund of innocent recreation, 
and enjoyment, in the simple scenes of nature; he 
carries his investigations and inquiries still farther than 
this; and he endeavors to establish the truth in his 
mind, and in his reason, by some substantial and pal- 
pable proof, that it is actually a designing intelligence, 
through which all these effects are produced ; — and he 
traces in this very mechanical and artificial apparatus 
of vocal expression, not the vague belief, but the actual 
fact, that the Author of nature has conferred not only 
on man, the gift of proper speech, but also bestowed on 
the higher animals, and particularly on the winged 
tribes, a power and faculty of analogous expression, 
which although not speech, is the type of speech, as 
animal is the type of human ; — a rude sketch in a 
lower order, of a finished work in a higher. 

We have here some clue to the understanding of 
the common belief, that speech is the gift of God: 
certainly, in this sense, at least, that man did not 
construct, by any effort or art of his own, that com- 
plicated and wonderfully adjusted apparatus of vocal 
expression, which is constituted in the anterior and 
superior portion of the body ; — for in truth, the whole 
thorax and the mechanism of the ribs, as well as the 
cellular tissue of the bronchia, and the ringed tube of 
the trachea, and the whole system of the oral appara- 
tus, are parts auxiliary, or principal, to the act of 
speaking; and we need not to be informed, that we did 
not construct any of these, or after they were con- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 75 

structed, put them up in that order, and nice adapta- 
tion to the end, which we discover in them. 

Is speech, then, natural to man, or is it acquired ? 

Let us proceed to examine the evidence before us : — 
let us advance to the analysis of those portions of nature, 
which are submitted to our view, and perhaps we shall 
acquire a satisfactory answer. If by speech be meant 
the mere act of emitting sounds, we may not yet be 
prepared to say, whether it be natural or acquired ; — 
or we may not have a very distinct idea of what we 
mean by the terms ; but this much we are now sure of 
at least, that the physical instrument or instruments, 
by which we speak, have been provided for us by 
nature ; — and we can trace the first dawning of her 
design, from a long distance, even among the more 
imperfect animals, when she first began to form the 
rudiments of lungs, — in the very gills of fishes, and 
the bronchia of the tadpole. Although these are mute, 
we can yet see her first essays towards the consum- 
mation of this all perfect instrument of the human 
voice. Now an act which nature has traveled so far, 
and so long thus to accomplish, up through the 
imperfect animals, to at last the mammalia and the 
birds, — in them conspicuous, — we cannot view as a 
trifling act, or one of slight import : an instrument of 
sound, perfect as his mind, and obedient thereto, has 
been put in the power of man; he is made the 
owner ; it constitutes a part of his body ; when he tries 
it, it sounds but rudely, but the imperfection is evi- 
dently not in the instrument, but in the vocalist him- 
self, who has not learned as yet to use it rightly. 

But have we yet answered the question, is God the 
author of human speech ? 

We are now prepared to see how far we are ready 
for the solution of it. Suppose, then, a father to have 



76 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

put into the hands of his twelve sons, musical instru- 
ments of precisely similar make, and that they had 
also inherited from him, all of them, musical propensi- 
ties and dispositions, so as to catch, and to imitate each 
sweet cadence of melody that fell upon their ears, 
from the groves and woods, the musical academies of 
the singing birds, — which thronged these wild do- 
mains, their paternal inheritances; — if these twelve 
sons were musicians, and played on these instruments 
skilfully, would you say it was the act of their father 
or their own? or, can you say, how at last it was 
accomplished ? But perhaps they all played different 
tunes, and not one, and that — original, and the arche- 
type of the others; — such most likely would be the 
result; but yet music, in all its variety, is essentially 
one, and human speech, although infinitely diversified, 
flows from one — not one system of sounds, so much as 
one system of articulated thought. 

We seem, then, now to be approaching the solution 
of the question, and the answer would appear to be 
this, that God is really the author of human speech : — 
First, because he has, with an infinity of mechanical 
skill, constructed the physical instrument ; secondly, 
because he has implanted in the human soul, a disposi- 
tion to speech, and the faculty of imitating articulated 
sound. And again, human speech is one, because men 
are brethren, — in their mental conceptions, and their 
bodily faculties alike, and therefore their ideas are 
moulded similarly. Men have but one language, but 
a diversity of dialects ; — the diversity of dialects comes 
from local circumstances, but the oneness of language 
comes from the divine brotherhood of the human 
race, or the identity of the human kingdom, notwith- 
standing all its families and different homesteads. 
u The father loves his son," — " the son reverences his 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 77 

father," — these ideas may he articulated in many 
thousand different impulses of the organs of speech, on 
the atmosphere of a thousand countries, and provinces ; 
hut the essential speech is the same in all. 

" The father loves his son ;" when that moral fact is 
articulated in speech, it is articulated in three joints, 
and the mind of every human being, with whatever 
modifications of breath he presses it on the atmosphere, 
feels, and views it still substantially in one way ; — the 
father is one, the son another, and the relation expressed 
between them a third ; it is this similarity of mental 
conception, this identity of nature, this fraternity of 
man, that lays the divine foundations of language, and 
renders the intercourse of mind with mind possible. 

You call that form of language Greek, and this other 
English; but in what does that Greek differ from 
this English? It is merely the color or texture of a 
veil,—- you draw aside the English or the Greek, — and 
you see the same divine human countenance, sweetly 
arrayed in the smiles of love, or clothed with the 
majesty of reason and philosophy. 

Why is it then that we say that the language of 
Homer is so much superior to that of our day ? It is 
just because it is a veil so perfect, and so gracefully 
worn withal, that you see the transparent symmetry 
of the noble Grecian mind, displayed without an 
effort; as if the very dress had been put on by the 
same Hand which originally clothed the human soul 
itself, with its own appropriate form, — that body, those 
limbs, and lineaments, and features. 

Under this view of the subject, then, it is easy to see 
what we are to understand by the proposition, that 
language is the gift of God, and that there was origin- 
ally but one language; and how ridiculous, and almost 
childish, are those speculations and inquiries as to that 



78 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

original language, whether Hebrew, or what ! As far 
back as history carries us, men have been speaking a 
variety of languages, in the common acceptation of the 
word; — and what may have been the state of the 
human race, at a period anterior to history, no one who 
understands the limits of rational investigation will 
consider himself competent to decide, although he may 
allow himself the freedom of conjecture. 

This much we know, that mankind are found in 
almost every imaginable stage of progress, from the 
most savage to the most civilized condition, and in no 
case do we find them destitute of language ; — wherever 
there is human respiration there is human speech ; that 
ebb and flow of the atmosphere, as it alternates in the 
thorax of the human body, is impelled by the organs of 
the human voice a thousand various ways, to us mysteri- 
ous and inscrutable, so as to convey to the ears of others 
the impressions of those thoughts and sentiments which 
agitate or interest the mind of him who utters them. 
These atmospheric impressions may often resemble, 
from the fact, that all men naturally attempt to imitate 
by their breathing, the natural sounds which occur 
every where, and are similar ; of these there are many 
instances in all languages, particularly of rude tribes. 
But to suppose these, in all cases, to have been imitated 
and copied from those who had first adopted and used 
them, seems by no means tenable ground. And I 
imagine that it arises from narrow views of the charac- 
ter and nature of man, as well as of the operations 
of Divine Providence. Cannot the origin of human 
speech be considered due to the Creator, unless we can 
think of it as having begun from that Source, in some 
one country exclusively, at first, and in some very 
remote epoch of time, and thence to have spread to 
other countries and other times, by successive and per- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 79 

petual imitation ? I must frankly own, that the idea of 
the divine origin of language seems to me much more 
striking and real, when I think of it as proceeding from 
the very constitution of human nature itself, and con- 
sequently from the will and act of Him, every single 
instant, "in whom we live, and move, and have our 
being ;" and that language is truly one, however vari- 
ous, in virtue of this its constant and present origin. 
What analogies, and similarities, in the stems and 
leaves of all the various tribes of the vegetable king- 
dom ! Whence are these ? Have they been all copied, 
so to speak, from the first budding and efflorescence of 
some central group, in one favored spot ? Not so ; but 
they spring from a more present cause, a more real 
origin, — the very order inscribed on the vegetable crea- 
tion, and its fixed relations with other departments of 
nature. Are the analogies of human languages to be 
differently accounted for ? 

The smiles and frowns of the human countenance, 
and the natural cries, indicative of joy or distress, are 
the same, wherever the family of man is found. Do 
we suppose these to have been copied by one genera- 
tion from another, downward from the first man, or to 
occur spontaneously, — divinely, to be the result of our 
formation, — nature itself willing and acting in us ? 

On such foundations speech is built, and hence 
springs its original unity. But its variety, at the same 
time, is the clearest indication, that the mind of man 
is not chained down to any invincible law of necessity, 
but left free to mould the original and spontaneous 
impressions of nature, into a thousand various systems 
of ideas, and as a proof of this, to express them vocally 
and sonorously, in as many various forms of speech. 
But in all these there is still the analogy of man, and 
hence, amid infinite variety, the still visible form of 



80 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

unity, here more, there less conspicuous, according as 
the different groups of the human family approximate 
or recede, in the incidents of their natural or civilized 
condition. That unity, — those links of brotherhood 
which connect them together, — and which is not only 
seen in their features and gestures, but also heard in 
their language — that chain, I say, which binds them, is 
upholden by the hand of the Creator himself, and is, 
in one sense, a chain of necessity ! — a good necessity — 
which renders man still true to man ; but the various- 
ness interwoven with it, is at once the consequence, 
and the symbol of human freedom, and in no instance 
so remarkable as in this very copiousness, and diversity 
of sounds and articulations, in which thought is 
embodied. 

This tendency to indefinite variety in human lan- 
guage, is at the same time restrained, and in some 
measure limited, by the faculty of imitation implanted 
in man. From this it has arisen that the audible 
sounds of nature, which are nearly every where the 
same, have been moulded and incorporated in some 
degree into all languages; but imbued, as it were, 
with the peculiar life of each. At the same time, 
neighboring nations, from mutual intercourse, and 
this proneness to imitation, have largely borrowed of 
each other words and sounds, each however still 
preserving its own idiom : as the bodies of plants and 
animals, are built up of the materials which have 
entered into the composition of others, while each 
constantly retains its own peculiar life, and form, 
and genus. For often, while the sound and form 
of words, of neighboring languages bear a resem- 
blance, the force and value of their elements vary 
exceedingly in the different systems. On their adop- 
tion into other languages, they actually receive a new 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 81 

nature ; and these additions resemble rather the nutri- 
tive sap that is taken in by the roots of the tree, than 
the grafts which are inserted in its trunk and branches ; 
they assume the character of the tree and lose their 
own specific distinctions. 

Such, then, are the two main sources from which 
language receives the constant accessions, as it were, of 
raw material, to be appropriated as the wants of the 
community require. I mean, first, the radical sounds 
and voices of external nature, and, secondly, those 
already appropriated and humanized by other nations. 
But, independently of these sources of analogy and 
resemblance, there seems no reason why a similarity of 
vocal sounds should exist among mankind. 

The arguments drawn from the sacred Scriptures, to 
establish a system of uniform sounds, and modifications 
of voice to designate ideas, are of akin with the sys- 
tems of astronomy and geology drawn from the same 
book; — all which, after being fanatically maintained 
for a time, by arguments suggested by passion, rather 
than philosophy, are compelled by degrees to give place 
to the solid truths of observation and experience. Not 
that I believe that a single truth of science militates in 
the least against the authority of the sacred Scriptures ; 
but these books do not purport to deliver to us a sys- 
tem of science, but only to reveal the author of Crea- 
tion and the established series of its epochs. We are 
instructed from this source, that speech is the native 
and original endowment of humanity, and that it was 
one, until abused. Man abused his powers, whence 
has sprung confusion in his ideas; and even that 
fraternity of the human race has been in a certain 
degree impaired in consequence. Hence that disso- 
nance in the moral sentiments of mankind, which is the 
true Babel, or actual derangement of mental speech. 

11 



82 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

The unity of speech, then, which existed in the 
earlier ages of the world, was the unity of thought, 
and of design, and endeavor, which characterized a 
race of men, who had not yet fallen from that state 
of integrity in which they were at first placed. They 
viewed every object of creation in its natural light; 
they knew its name, the name which the Creator him- 
self had stamped on every work of his hands, — and 
their science was intuition. But as we may easily 
suppose that even their faculties were more or less 
improved by exercise, and that hence variety existed 
among them, so it is not irrational to conceive, that the 
tones and articulations of their voice, in which they 
expressed the thought, and feeling of their minds, were 
equally diversified. That, for example, that peculiar 
breathing of the mouth, and modification of it by the 
lips, in which they expressed their idea of the sun or 
stars, may have been remarkably adapted to convey a 
correspondent impression to the mind of another; — 
and that thus, speech among them, was more diversi- 
fied than it is now, as their minds were more free and 
open to the real impressions of things. Their one 
language then, would combine within it a greater 
variety of sound and articulation than might be found 
at present in all the languages of the globe; — but 
that, nevertheless, in consequence of the harmony of 
their minds, it was not unintelligible to any part 
of the human family; — each instinctively felt the 
full force, and impression of the thoughts of another, 
although uttered in sounds before unheard, and novel, 
it might be, even to the speaker himself; for vocal 
utterance would be spontaneous, and new with each 
new conception ; — but it resembled withal those sweet 
tones, and murmurs, with which a mother expresses 
her affections to her infant, and to which it also replies, 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 83 

in gentle cooings of infantile delight, and budding 
intelligence, — vocal expressions of a species of thought, 
to utter which our mechanical and artificial languages, 
now-a-days, could furnish no facilities of either words 
or tones. 

But it is vain to travel over a field of such wide 
conjecture; — let it be sufficient for us to know, that 
speech is natural to man, and that very probable argu- 
ments could be advanced, that if man now lived in 
that primeval simplicity which the sacred Scriptures 
inform us once belonged to him, however multiplied 
and diversified might be those murmurs of voice, and 
spontaneous expression, in which he made known his 
wishes or his ideas, they could not be unintelligible to 
others, who lived in similar innocence, but the inter- 
course would be perfect between mind and mind, and 
endeared as that which now exists between a mother 
and her infant, in the dawn of its intellect, before it 
has yet learned to express its wishes, in the conven- 
tional and artificial language of modern society. 

We know, at all events, (and this is not a matter of 
fancy,) that there are certain inarticulate cries which 
are natural to man, and express the various emotions 
of his mind. These are not dignified with the name 
of speech, because they are common to him with the 
animals. On the calm or troubled stream of these 
emotions, which are tones, are impressed the modifica- 
tions which are called speech or language, and which 
are the shadows of ideas. In this manner, it may be 
perceived, that tones are the ground-work, or the sur- 
face on which language is indented by that process 
which is called articulation, and which is purely intel- 
lectual, and belongs not to the animals. They have 
all however their peculiar and instinctive cries, and 
the birds their instinctive notes, which are not learned 



84 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

from the parent birds, but are natural to them. 
The domestic hen has great variety in its notes; 
and its call of invitation, in particular, to its brood, 
to partake of the food which it discovers for them, is 
quite peculiar, as every body knows ; — it has also a 
particular note to express surprise and give alarm, 
which cannot be mistaken; and the duck! cluck! with 
which she oversees her brood, and which seems to be 
very expressive of consequence and authority, is for- 
midable even to dogs, and other enemies which would 
encroach upon her domains on those occasions. These 
are instances of a kind of natural language in animals, 
which we presume to retain their proper place in crea- 
tion, and not to have deviated from it ; — and from the 
observation of such facts, we might very easily imagine 
at least the possibility of a general language in the 
human family, flowing from reason and uncorrupted 
instinct, and the consequently pure and natural percep- 
tions of the true relations of objects external to the 
mind. The contemplation of these might be supposed 
in such a state to have affected all men nearly similarly; 
they derived from them ideas which were always true 
to nature, and therefore harmonizing, although various ; 
the similar affections of their minds gave birth to tones 
which were just and expressive of the things which 
produced them, and on these tones were impressed 
various modifications through the lips, and tongue, and 
palate, which were the language of the peculiar ideas 
of the understanding, which were originated at the 
same time in the individual. But as we imagine that 
these affections, as well as ideas, spring directly from 
the observation and view of the prototypes of nature 
herself, and not from acquired knowledge, we are con- 
sequently led to the conclusion, that the tones and 
articulated sounds of the earliest language must have 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 85 

exceeded, in variety and extent, the whole united com- 
pass of expression at present to be found in all the 
languages of the earth. In that golden age, therefore, 
or antediluvian world, which we are taught to consider 
as being more innocent than this, which has succeeded, 
and in which consequently there existed but one 
speech, there must have been in that one speech lan- 
guages so numerous, that the speech of every indivi- 
dual was itself a language ; — nay, also, the language of 
the individual himself must change every month or 
year, as his affections were enlarged or his ideas 
extended. And thus, the word father, for example, 
would not only be expressed with an additional tone of 
tenderness, as he became more sensible of the extent 
of his obligations to that relation, but with such a new 
accent or indentation of the word, as would give 
another arrangement to its vowels and consonants, and 
in fact render it almost a new word, exactly expressive 
of all the new ideas which had been gathering around 
the object itself, which it was intended to describe. So 
that the various transformations which are effected on 
this word father, by our children, in their first efforts 
to pronounce the name, are in some sort a representa- 
tion of those changes which we may suppose to have 
been constantly produced on all the words of that one 
perfect and correspondent language which we fancy to 
have existed before the flood ; but the beauty and per- 
fection of it may be supposed to have been this, that 
in consequence of its expressing precisely, and accord- 
ing to the order of nature, the very feelings of the 
minds, and the modifications of intelligence, which 
were yet uncorrupt, and in unison with the whole of 
humanity, these constantly new tones and distinctions 
of sound, fell upon their ears like familiar and well 
known voices, finding an easy admission to every heart, 



86 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

and naturally intelligible to every understanding. It 
was the spoken music of nature, and needed no other 
interpreter but that "voice of God" within, which, 
being universally felt and acknowledged, banished all 
estrangement and discord from the earth, whether in 
mind, in voice, or in action. And yet there was no 
monotony there ; for — 

" Neither various style, 



Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise 

Their Maker ; in fit strains pronounced or sung 

Unmeditated ; such prompt eloquence 

Flowed from their lips, in prose or numerous verse 

More tunable than needed lute or harp 

To add more sweetness " 

From these conjectures, it can be seen at least how 
vague and inadequate the common idea is, of an orig- 
inal language, and how foolish it would be to think 
that it could resemble either in its structure or its 
harmony, any of those wretched and meagre dialects 
which we write and speak. 

These to be sure, in their poverty and indistinctness, 
and remarkably artificial character, are a very just 
representation of the habits of our minds, shut out 
from the natural perception of objects, especially such 
as are of a moral and religious kind, for on these a 
dense cloud now rests, the same which also obscures 
our moral sense, or has nearly obliterated it. Still, 
however, our languages are an exact image of ourselves, 
but for that very reason unintelligible, unless from 
labor and study, to other nations; the features of a 
real fraternity have been expunged in a great measure 
from their words and syntax, and they exhibit a pic- 
ture it must be confessed, but too faithfully just, of the 
present discordant condition of the moral sentiments of 
mankind; They are the languages of opinion, rather 
than of truth. Hence it has arisen, that morality and 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 87 

religion being acquired, not innate, although their 
foundations are not the less firm on that account, the 
nations of the present races of mankind are trained 
and disciplined in youth, each through their mother 
tongues, into certain confined views and sentiments; 
and it is not until the age of mature reason, that we 
are able to obtain even a glimpse of that once perfect 
light, which was wont to be as common as this of the 
sun, and as universally diffused. But there is a pro- 
vision for the recovery of this pristine condition of 
the human race ; and the indications are to be found in 
that expansive and germinant power, conspicuous in 
modern languages ; — the English language especially is 
yet in its infancy, as is certainly the English mind. 
Our language will widen as our views expand, and 
although rough at first, and rude, must be all innova- 
tions, as original views also are abrupt and indistinct, 
yet custom will mellow the one, and ripen the other. 

The connection between language and thought is as 
difficult to understand, as the intercourse between 
body and soul: and perhaps the analogy also holds in 
other respects; — that it is just as impossible to think 
efficiently without language, — some system of natural 
or conventional symbols, as it is for the soul to act with- 
out the body; and as the senses are the first occasions, 
although not the causes of ideas, so it would appear 
that language, although not the material of thought or 
ratiocination, is yet the natural instrument without 
which it cannot be carried on, or tangibly represented 
even to the mind itself. 

Language in its proper sense, being denied to brutes 
and granted only to man, signifies a peculiarity in his 
nature, of a very remarkable kind, which will be far- 
ther illustrated hereafter. It is the instrument pro- 
vided by nature for stamping on his being after birth, 



88 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

through the means of society, the moral sense, in other 
words, religion, with which the instincts of animals, 
(the laws of their life,) bear an analogy ; hut in them 
these are fixed at birth. In man it is otherwise, — the 
moral sense is unsettled then, in order that it may be 
established afterwards in freedom and rationality ; and 
through the action of the moral affections of society, 
(communicated chiefly through language,) become at 
last fixed, — a certain and unerring law of life, — if not 
inborn, inbred, and the last perfection of human char- 
acter. 

Such is the dignity and worth of language, and so 
high is the office it is designed to discharge in the com- 
pletion of the moral creation of man; — for in the 
womb the laws of physical life alone are impressed 
immutably on his being, and rendered unerring, but in 
the bosom of society his moral life begins to be formed, 
and although we are witnesses to some of 'the means 
and instruments (of which language is one) the act is 
not the less wonderful or divine on that account. It is 
true the moral sense, although so much higher a fac- 
ulty than that of instinct, is apparently more imperfect 
in its operations, but the reason of that is plain, from 
the lessons of revelation; ultima dies expectanda est; 
the work is yet unfinished. The moral sense will 
show all the perfections of instinct on the second birth 
into "everlasting life." 

But besides the moral sense in man, imperfect at 
birth, or its foundation merely provided, there is also 
the intellectual sense, similarly produced. The instinct 
of animals comprehends both ; they are not only perfect- 
ly sensible of the ends of their life, but also of the means 
of attaining them. In both instances their nature, 
such as it is, is wholly made up, finished at birth, and 
in both also the human being is but "half made up," 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 89 

and not even that, for the moral and intellectual crea- 
tion (such properly it is) is then only begun. But the 
work is going on; and language is here no less evi- 
dently the appointed instrument of building up the 
intellectual, than in forming the moral man. And in 
either case his mother tongue is that especial and nat- 
ural means, whereby his mind and affections are 
moulded into the image and likeness of his family and 
country, just as certainly as his body and form are de- 
termined by the physical contour and disposition of his 
progenitors. But neither is there here any law of 
cruel necessity, for although his native tongue modifies, 
while it gives occasion to, his first moral and intellec- 
tual sentiments, yet the very modifications which that 
native tongue itself constantly undergoes from each 
new generation of human beings, are a positive demon- 
stration, that the intellectual and moral sentiments of 
mankind, although originally derived from education, 
are not controlled by it, but capable of receiving con- 
tinual additions, improvements, and renovations. They 
may also degenerate, be lost, or obscured. In either case, 
and under every view of the subject, language is a true 
index of the moral and intellectual, the free and expan- 
sive nature of man. It wanes or brightens, as morals and 
intelligence degenerate or improve. The intellectual 
sense will receive its perfection at the second birth of 
the human being, not less than the moral. This is a 
truth of revelation, but susceptible of demonstration also 
from the light of nature. 

The manner in which language is acquired in child- 
hood, and its contents opened to the understanding, if 
attentively observed, would throw much light on the 
formation of our sentiments and opinions. Languages 
appear at first to be learned by imitation, and the sen- 
tences and words, which children first use, they seldom 

12 



90 LECTURE THE THIRD. 

distinctly understand. The recognition of this fact has 
led some to depreciate the value of language as an in- 
strument to develope, in education, and they have re- 
commended in place of it "the study of things." And 
this surely ought not to be neglected, and it is indispen- 
sable to render the other effectual. But yet the acquisi- 
tion of words and phrases is a much more important part 
of education than is generally supposed. They are the 
deposits in the smallest compass of the results of much 
observation and reasoning of our predecessors. When 
we open them in mature life, what a legacy of truth 
do we sometimes find to have been committed to us. 

Most persons, however, seldom open these deposits of 
ideas, or seek to know what they contain. — The depos- 
its of theological language are the least explored. 

Language then, may be considered as the treasury 
of the experience and common observation of man- 
kind ; and although very unlike its most ancient per- 
fection, it is still the best vehicle of the ideas of those 
who have preceded us; — it is a chain that draws to- 
gether all those minds that have passed from the terres- 
trial sphere, and those who in their turn occupy it; and 
the feeling that once quickened the bosom of Homer, 
or glowed in the mind of Plato, can be rekindled 
afresh in the souls of the latest posterity. "The fare- 
well address" of Washington will make the most illus- 
trious deeds of the latter half of the eighteenth century 
be transacted over and over again in grateful memory, 
while a sense of genuine freedom, still more exalted 
virtue, disinterestedness and devotion to country, re- 
tains its power over the human mind. To speak, to 
read, is the provision of nature and nature's God, 
through which we are cemented in virtue, in energy, 
and faithful purpose, with all that has ever been noble 
and good, with all that ever will be. 



LECTURE THE FOURTH; 



ST. AUGUSTINE AND BARON CUVIER, 



OR THE MEETING 



OF THE FIFTH AND NINETEENTH CENTURIES. 



Summary of preceding lecture. — Necessity of viewing man from different epochs 
of history ; his language and actions the only true criteria in the determination 
of his character. — The fifth and nineteenth centuries contrasted, in the persons 
of St. Augustine and Baron Cuvier; their characters and labors. — Value of 
the study of the writings of the fifth century. — Translation from the " City of 
God." — Picture of St. Augustine. — The reflection interesting, that each age 
contributes its peculiar mental commodity to the meeting of ages in the spi- 
ritual world, where it is not unphilosophical to suppose that Augustine and 
Cuvier may have held converse. — Their imagined meeting and dialogue, exhi- 
biting the exclusiveness which marked the pursuits of their respective epochs. 
■ — The theology of the fifth should combine with the science of the nineteenth 
century ; thus the Word of God would be illustrated by his works. 

In our last lecture, we traced the physical provision 
for human language, and showed its foundation in 
nature, its essential oneness, its formal diversity. Its 
natural foundation was discovered in the instrument 
itself of vocal expression, so artificially and studiously 
elaborated; — that it was connected with respiration 
and the organ — the lungs ; and that this organ seemed 
to he mainly designed by nature for this great end, 
since the aeration of the blood could be effected 
through other means than this singular apparatus. 
That in the insects, the aeration of the blood is in 
fact otherwise accomplished, and that in the Crustacea 



92 LECTURE THE FOURTH. 

and fishes there is the rude form of the lungs, but 
not the organ itself; that at last in the birds and 
mammalia it is perfectly brought forth, and in man 
its remote and final purpose fully disclosed,- — the pro- 
duction of voice and the modifications of speech, the 
symbol of reason, and the very means of its perfection, 
uniting men in society, exciting the social affections, 
strengthening, expressing, and maturing them, and 
with them the moral sense, and the intellectual powers, 
the whole of which are combined into one delightful 
whole, and exhibited and embodied in this astonishing 
and divine edifice of language, no less complicated in 
its parts than harmonious in its results. That speech is 
therefore a part of humanity, as much as the existence of 
the social affections, without which, indeed, they could 
not well be manifested. That, accordingly, the origin 
of speech is not other than the origin of man himself; 
it is coeval with his being, and has its origin in God. 
That speech therefore existed in primeval society ; and 
that the Garden of Eden was vocal with other sounds 
than those of the happy irrational creation ; — that there 
wanted not then a speech as diversified, and as musical, 
and every day as new and original, as were the thoughts 
and joyous feelings of the men of that golden period. 
That this language could not be artificial, as ours, on 
reasons of analogy, but has its type in the slender voca- 
bulary but expressive tones of that intellectual progeny, 
the singing birds of our forests ; that then language 
must have been the entire, exact, and full expression of 
the whole soul, leaving no painful consciousness in the 
mind of the utterer, that the sounds did not altogether 
yield his sense ; and that, consequently, there could be 
no fixed forms of words, no stereotypes of thought 
descending from age to age, but the language of men 
must have been as the generations of the leaves of the 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 93 

trees, new every season, but each word still exactly 
expressive, as each tree has also its form of leaf, which 
God has given it, to tell its characters, its species, and 
its use; and that therefore each man instinctively 
understood each other man, as Adam, or the " Man of 
that Age," is said, in sacred Writ, to have known the 
name of every living thing, that is, the indications of 
its true nature, marked on it by the hand of God, — 
and if then, of every living thing, why not also those 
articulated sounds and tones, which flowed from the 
lips of his brother man, which albeit the spontaneous 
product of his thought, and born but that hour, and 
original and new, yet must have fallen with all mean- 
ing and expressiveness on the mind of one who wor- 
shipped God similarly, and viewed all nature with a 
consenting mind, and genius, and affection. But in 
these latter ages the whole nature of the thing is 
changed. We understand not one another's speech, 
because our thoughts are now altogether our own, and 
no longer fraternal; we are estranged in mind, and 
hence in language, mind's representative ; but the gol- 
den age seemed to revive, as with a brief gleam, in the 
days of the first apostles of Christianity ; they had the 
gift of understanding all tongues, because they had the 
endowment of universal philanthropy; this has been 
considered a pure miracle, and it was; but miracles are 
the expression of laws to us unknown, and did not men 
entertain foolish ideas about the first language, they 
would understand better what was signified by "the 
gift of tongues." But that age of christian innocence 
quickly passed away; — whether it will be again re- 
stored, it is not for me to speculate; — nor yet what 
must be the ultimate tendency of the present multi- 
tude of artificial languages, or how they may again be 
melted down into a general, and spontaneous, and un- 



94 lECTURE THE FOURTH. 

artificial language, — from which point they are at pre- 
sent very remote, and the English most of all : — that, 
and many other inquiries on this subject, I shall not 
now pursue, for I am anxious to gather up into one 
view many of the sentiments of former lectures, and 
to survey them, if possible, from two widely differ- 
ent epochs of history. By that means, we may be 
enabled to take some lateral views of our subject, — not 
regarding it in front merely, but under various other 
aspects, — of ages, of countries, of religions, of systems, 
and opinions, flourishing still, or long since extinct. 

But, in order to do this rightly and with effect, we 
must invest our minds, as it were, with the ideas and 
sentiments of past ages ; we must leave our own times, 
and our own language, — for I call our own language 
that which is at present spoken, whether English, Ger- 
man, Italian, or French, — for in that is variously stereo- 
typed the spirit of the age, the intellectual domination, 
which subdues us ; — we must divest ourselves of it, 
and seeking another language and an ancient epoch, 
thence, as from a watch-tower, mark the signs of our 
times, and with the view of ascertaining the essential 
and immutable principles of man, note the ever-shift- 
ing features of opinion, sentiment, and engrossing pur- 
suit, which, various and distracting as they may seem, 
are nevertheless the only positive phenomena from 
which the true theory of man can ever be determined. 

We may consider it now as settled, that |when the 
language of a people, the type of its peculiarities, has 
ceased to be spoken, and another has arisen in its place, 
sprung from the people themselves, as from the native 
earth, and at last adopted and polished by the learned, 
and made the instrument of their communications, — 
the spirit of the age is radically changed, a new dynasty 
of thinking has commenced, and it is expressed in this 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 95 

new speech. The Latin language, for many ages, was 
the sole medium of intercourse between the learned of 
Europe, and while this was the case, preserved many 
valuable truths under the guise of ancient peculiarities ; 
but it reflected few or none of the popular or native 
tastes of the country or period. Since its disuse, the 
human mind, within the last two hundred years, stands 
entirely emancipated from the peculiarities of former 
ages, and is left free to invest itself with its own 
opinions, and to wear the livery at least of its own 
thoughts. How far it is more truly emancipated, it is 
not for me to determine ; I am concerned chiefly to 
exhibit the natural phases of its history and philosophy, 
and that too in such order as they may be most easily 
apprehended, whether that of strict method or of ram- 
bling inquiry. It matters little in what order we 
approach the subject, provided we can impress upon 
our minds at last the chief and most conspicuous points 
of its truth and grandeur. With this view, and to have 
the full benefit of contrast, I shall bring before you this 
evening St. Augustine and Baron Cuvier, as specimens 
of men, and the one of the fifth, and the other of the 
nineteenth century. 

With the life and character of Cuvier you are already 
sufficiently acquainted to understand what he has to 
say ; with the life and character of St. Augustine you 
are, perhaps, not so familiar. St. Augustine lived in 
the close of the fourth, and the beginning of the fifth 
century, occupying about the same portion of each, 
that Cuvier did of the eighteenth and nineteenth. But 
how unlike the times in which they lived ! You are 
surrounded with the atmosphere of the nineteenth cen- 
tury, — it is unnecessary to say any thing of it ; but of 
the fifth, you are informed through history. It was, in 
many respects, a remarkable period; it saw the last 



96 LECTURE THE FOURTH. 

receding shadows of paganism, or the old Gentile 
religion, vanish forever from its long-occupied and 
favorite seats, the south and east of Europe. There is 
something melancholy, even in the decline of an au- 
gust form of superstition ; those who understand human 
nature can readily imagine with what tenacity the 
ancient inhabitants of Italy and Greece clung to those 
forms of worship and fascinating rites of polytheism, 
which, absurd as they may seem to us, were neverthe- 
less at one time the sacred and revered expression of 
the religious feelings and imaginings of a noble portion 
of the human family. A sound philosophy would lead 
us to think that many of these forms of superstition 
had originated anciently in a just and pure conception 
of one God, and his revealed attributes; and in that 
primeval era, probably, they established their dominion 
over the minds of men, and thence became sanctioned 
by the usages of antiquity, and the veneration that is 
paid to the opinions and sentiments of earlier ages ; but 
succeeding times, in the age of St. Augustine, had long 
since ceased to recognize any thing either pure or 
rational in the rites of paganism ; if they once embo- 
died the sentiments of a pure religion, it was no longer 
to be found in them, but nevertheless the people still 
clung to them with ardent devotion in many parts of 
the empire; — and Christianity, in those times, had to 
engage in a contest with these antiquated errors, and to 
prove their absurdity. This was a contest on which 
St. Augustine entered with great zeal, and he has 
devoted a large part of the first division of his grand 
work, the " City of God," to exposing the absurdities of 
the ancient superstition. This exposition is not with- 
out its interests, on many accounts, and chiefly as an 
exhibition of the temper and character of the times ; 
you are, while reading it, in the midst of those great 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 97 

questions which at the time perplexed and embarrassed 
the human understanding, and if you cannot help 
smiling occasionally at the extravagance of some, the 
thought will also cross your mind, that many of those 
inquiries, in which we are now engaged, are not in 
their own nature a whit more important, nay, per- 
haps, a coming age may think them even less so, and 
the labors of St. Augustine, which have fallen into 
neglect, in these philosophical times, may yet once 
more engage the admiration of mankind. And so 
much the more may this be the case, as the decay of 
religions and their rise, and particularly their periods 
of transition, are no less replete with interest, than the 
physical revolutions of the globe, the grandeur and 
wonderfulness of which are likely to attract the great- 
est minds of the age, and to the investigation of which, 
Cuvier has led the way. Probably, St. Augustine, in 
his time, would have regarded such researches as friv- 
olous or impious, certainly no way to be compared 
with his own labors, when for so many years he inves- 
tigated from the lights of sacred Scripture, what, and 
how various might be the forms and essences of truth, 
what sentences of condemnation would be passed on 
those polluted pagans, who still continued to worship, 
under the names of Juno, Jupiter, or Minerva, mali- 
cious demons, the enemies of the human race, — what 
might be their fate, or what their excuse ; and what, on 
the contrary, the rewards of those suffering martyrs, 
who declared their faith in the face of persecution, 
and stood true to their vows, amid the most adverse 
and discouraging fortune. As St. Augustine cast his 
eyes backwards on the enchaining and beguiling forms 
of a lofty and magnificent paganism, — now sinking be- 
neath the meekness and unpretending simplicity of 
Christianity, and saw the old retire, and the new com- 

13 



98 LECTURE THE FOURTH. 

ing to take its place, and rejoiced in the fond antici- 
pations of an approaching milenium, — a dream which 
the earliest fathers habitually indulged, and which the 
most recent times have not yet abandoned, — how in- 
significant to him would have seemed the most indus- 
trious labors of Cuvier, — those energetic descriptions of 
animal life, — those nice and just discriminations, — and 
the astonishing instances of successful induction, with 
which his works abound. Sixteen centuries after his 
time, when every trace of that hostile paganism against 
which he warred was obliterated, and Christianity, in 
name at least, every where triumphant in the Euro- 
pean world, could St. Augustine have fancied, that a 
philosopher would find no better or worthier employ- 
ment, than to arrange and classify animals, or to inquire 
into the antiquity of the earth, or those physical revolu- 
tions, which have, at different periods, affected its sur- 
face ? Could he have thought, that a learned christian, 
for such subjects as these, would have abandoned his 
own lofty themes, respecting the free-will of man, 
original sin, the last conflagration, and the beatifications 
of the faithful, and the crowning splendors of "the city 
of God." All these were the engrossing topics, the 
favorite studies of the fifth century, and their impor- 
tance seemed to cast all minor subjects in the shade ; the 
spirit of inquiry was entirely theological, and hardly 
could a subject of different character have engaged 
serious notice. It is to be regretted, that we are so en- 
tirely wedded to the prejudices of our own age, and so 
much imbued with the contempt of those ages of theo- 
logical erudition, that we hardly even consider their 
ponderous folios worthy of our inspection. But he, 
who would comprehend, as far as possible, the true 
history of man, will read with care, such works as 
these, and imbibe for a time, even their prejudices, (if 



NATURAL, HISTORY OF MAN. 99 

they were such.) in order to have a better insight into 
the real character of the human mind. Nor will his 
labors be lost, even in a practical view ; he will find 
many of his own prejudices dissipated, he will receive 
a more exalted idea of the Christian religion, when he 
peruses such works as those of St. Augustine, who de- 
voted his whole soul to the subject, and endeavored so 
earnestly to portray its just features. For my own 
part, I have passed some of the most pleasant hours of 
my life, in perusing the Latin pages of St. Augustine, 
for although the style is far from classical, it has the 
charm of perfect originality, and gives utterance often, 
to the most sublime and touching sentiment. 

As a specimen of his style and manner, I shall trans- 
late one short paragraph, which never before, I believe, 
flowed in English, and I do so the more willingly, as 
the ideas are intimately related with the subject of our 
lectures : 

"ON THE UNIVERSAL PROVIDENCE OF GOD." 

"God, the highest and the true, with his word and 
his holy spirit, for the three are one, — God, the One, 
the almighty, the creator, the maker of all soul and 
all body, — in communication with whom all are happy, 
who are truly such, who made man a being rational, of 
soul and body composed, — who has neither permitted 
him sinning to be unpunished, nor yet abandoned him 
without compassion, — who to the good and the evil 
has given essence in common with the minerals, a 
seminal existence in common with vegetables, a sen- 
sual life in common with animals, and an intelligent 
soul in common with angels, — from whom is all 
mode, and all species, and all order, from whom is 
measure, and number, and weight, from whom every 
thing is, that naturally is, of whatever kind or estima- 



100 liECTURE THE FOURTH. 

tion it be, from whom are seeds of forms, and the 
forms of seeds, the motions of seeds and of forms, — 
who to flesh has given origin, and heauty, and health, 
and fecundity, the disposition of limhs, and vigor, and 
harmony, — who in the irrational soul has implanted 
memory, and sense, and appetite, but to the rational 
soul has superadded thought and intelligence, and will, 
— who not only has fashioned the heaven and earth, 
not only angel and man, but even on the coating of the 
most insignificant insect, on the tiny feather of the 
smallest bird, on the most minute flower of the grass, 
on the leaflet of the shrub, has bestowed a finish and 
absolute fitness of parts ; — He cannot, on any ground 
whatever, be supposed to have abandoned the society 
of human kind, or to have left them at large, beyond 
the contact and government of his providence and 
laws " 

With this author then, being not a little conversant, 
and also having derived from him a vivid impression of 
the character of the age in which he lived, I long 
much to be able to convey to you some of those ideas 
and views of his mind and sentiments, which I have 
received. I seem to myself even now to behold him, 
as he was in the prime of life, after the renunciation of 
his youthful errors, and when the serene spirit of Chris- 
tianity had softened and tamed the natural harshness of 
his character. I see his rugged countenance soften 
into benignity and energetic thought, as I gaze on it, 
and what at first seemed a frown on his lofty and 
manly forehead, is but the inviting aspect of a daring 
and sublime intelligence. There are calmness and 
mildness, and severity, at once combined in his looks; 
but his severity is not that of an angry temper, but of 
a resolute seeking for truth, and indignation of wrong; 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 101 

but the elevation of his whole aspect, naturally directed 
upwards, shows one, who, even in his search for truth, 
was ambitious to meet with her only in her loftier 
forms, in her heavenly rather than in her earthly attire. 
The youthful Augustine was one, in whose presence 
few would dare to be gay, but none was ever known to 
be sad ; mirth was sobered, and reason cheered in dis- 
course with him. 

This age of ours is naturally infidel, but sometimes 
shows itself not incapable of believing; it has been 
listening some time to certain very marvellous tales, 
and whether true or false, 1 take it not upon me here 
to say. But you know, that not a few individuals, and 
those far from credulous or unphilosophical in other 
respects, have been able to credit lately — how a 
maiden, without ever moving from her couch, in 
Providence, in Rhode Island, could travel in mental 
vision, to a distant city, in company with a waking 
guide, he himself also standing still, and survey 
not a few objects of interest in this renowned city, 
and take a faithful inventory of doings and trans- 
actions, and describe withal most graphically, im- 
plements and pictures, which none before had ever 
seen, except herself and her companion there, — all 
this has been credited, and I do not say that I disbe- 
lieve it; — I only wish, that as ready belief could be 
awarded to the fact, (if such could be supposed,) of a 
meeting between this St. Augustine, of whose writings 
and character, I have been giving some account, and 
the late Baron Cuvier, whose noble scientific character 
not less significantly marks the spirit of our era, than 
did that theological bent of Augustine display the pre- 
vailing disposition of the fifth century. And it is a 
matter of interest to reflect — to those, who have not 
reasoned themselves out of their Christianity, and that 



102 LECTURE THE FOURTH. 

firm and innate belief, we have of another world — to 
reflect, I say, how each age and epoch bring into that 
world, their own distinctive contribution of intelli- 
gence, and thought, and enlarged benevolence. Surely 
there, the philosophy of Plato is not divorced, as here, 
from the philosophy of Bacon, nor the philosophy of 
Bacon from the philosophy of Plato, but men are able 
to reason a priori and a posteriori too, — nor is there, 
theology in one corner, and science in another, but all 
receive the good of all. In short, each age, as it were, 
manufactures its own special mental commodity ; but 
in the meeting of the ages, in that universal Forum, 
while all communicate with all, and without losing 
their individual characters, they may be supposed to 
come by intuition, into full possession of the ideas of 
each other, and to have all their prejudices removed, 
and their narrowness extended. The fifth century 
might there meet the nineteenth, and in the persons 
of Augustine and Cuvier, hold no silly or unphiloso- 
phical colloquy, but one mutually instructive, rational, 
and sublime, if there be indeed sublimity in truth, as 
assuredly there would be, if we could see all its parts 
on any one subject, brought into juxta-position, to form 
a perfect whole, and not separated, as is generally the 
case, by intervals of many centuries. 

But, for once, let the interval be supposed to be re- 
moved, and let two sensible men, for good sense 
characterized them both, be believed to have met. 
Simplicity, and candor, and truth, must be enduring 
traits in the minds of Augustine and Cuvier ; although 
born in distant ages, they were not essentially unlike. 

St. Augustine. — Yes, Cuvier, your industry was un- 
doubtedly laudable, and it has extended the domains of 
natural knowledge. Newton and yourself have each 
in your own peculiar provinces, enlarged the views of 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 103 

mankind, and prepared a wider field for the glory of 
God, to be signalized, and be made to affect the human 
soul to its advantage. 

Cuvier. — But, St. Augustine, it has often been 
matter of astonishment to me, that you should have 
consumed so large a portion of your time, in writing 
that work you call "the City of God," the deep myste- 
ries of which, I must confess, I never could unravel ; 
and I have lamented, that talents, so powerful as yours, 
should have been employed on a subject, so barren of 
useful truth, as that appears to have been. 

St. Augustine. — Cuvier, you must not underrate the 
importance of that work ; the spirit of the age called 
for it, for mine was the age of speculative theology, 
yours is devoted to physical research. You delved into 
the hidden depths and recesses of nature; I, on the 
contrary, attempted to explore those riches unsearch- 
able, of moral and spiritual value, which are contained 
in the sacred Scriptures, and when I wrote my great 
work, on the city of God, it was with the design to 
show, that the laws which regulate the spiritual com- 
monwealth, are as fixed and immutable in their char 
acter, as those which compel nature herself to be 
submissive to the will of the Creator, — which deter- 
mine the revolution of the seasons, or the succession 
of day and night. 

Cuvier. — But you forget, Augustine, how your spec- 
ulations at last terminated. You bound the human 
will in shackles of fate, you are the great lord of pre- 
destination, and your work even now bolsters up that 
tottering fabric of mischievous opinions, which have so 
long darkened and bewildered the faith of mankind. 

St. Augustine. — And it were but another proof, 
Cuvier, of the natural servility of the human mind. 
But the doctrine in question was in my case unavoid- 



104 LECTURE THE FOURTH. 

able ; I was driven to it, to raise a rampart against the 
Manicheans, whose system of opinions had much in- 
fested my mind, in my youth. You know their belief 
in two principles, which contend for the government of 
the world, the one benign, the other malevolent, and 
that a perpetual and doubtful war is waged between 
them, while mankind are alike exposed to either influ- 
ence, inclined sometimes to the one, sometimes to the 
other. 

Cuvier. — I have merely learned, Augustine, that 
such opinions existed, and that your youth was capti- 
vated by them. 

St. Augustine. — And such, indeed, was the fact ; but 
when that benignant Religion, whose smiles irradiate 
the whole creation, first dawned on my intellect, I 
quickly abandoned all these follies. 

Cuvier. — So history has informed us ; — and then, by 
a rapid transition, you passed from one absurdity to a 
worse, you became a fatalist in your creed, and you 
made your God the author of evil, in virtue of an irre- 
vocable decree, and thus fixed on the minds of your 
followers, a more dangerous error, than that, from 
which you wished to deliver your Manichean associ- 
ates. 

St. Augustine. — Cuvier, I cannot acknowledge these 
modern errors to be the legitimate offspring of the 
theology of the fifth century. I wished to delineate 
the form of a spiritual commonwealth, whose laws 
are not arbitrary but fixed and capable of being appre- 
hended by the human mind. Such it appeared to me ; 
but you know the imperfection of human language, 
and how incapable it is, to embody those gleams of 
truth, which strike the mind, in its contemplation of 
the works of God. And did those who succeed us, 
look to the same quarter for evidence, whence we our- 



NATURAL. HISTORY OF MAN. 105 

selves have derived it, instead of studying only that 
imperfect language, in which we have delivered it, 
fewer errors would descend to posterity, or rather 
fewer truths would be transmuted into errors, in the 
progress of transmission. 

Cuvier. — That is very certain ; but how came man- 
kind to fall into such error in this case? 

St. Augustine. — I was myself partly in fault, Cuvier, 
— my language was not sufficiently guarded ; but it was 
my solicitude to conquer the Manicheans, which mis- 
led me, for I designed to establish it, in opposition to 
their dogmas, that evil as well as good is under the dis- 
position of one supreme God, and that nothing either 
good or evil can possibly happen, without his permis- 
sion and knowledge; such is the tenor of those un- 
changeable laws, which regulate the occurrence and 
order of all moral, as well as physical events. 

Cuvier. — I am happy to find, Augustine, that your 
theology on this point is not so irrational as 1 had been 
led to suppose : — but I cannot help thinking, that your 
age was too exclusively theological. 

St. Augustine. — The nineteenth century is making 
amends for that error, Cuvier; in the pursuit of science, 
theology is now in danger of being forgotten: nature 
has engrossed your whole attention; the ministers of 
religion are no longer the best intellects of the age ; the 
services of the sanctuary are abandoned altogether to 
the hearts of men; their understandings appear to have 
found other employments. 

Cuvier. — Every period has its own predominant 
character, Augustine; mankind, like the individuals 
who compose it, are great only by fits and starts, and 
in single things; one engrossing pursuit is enough for an 
age, and it is then the season for minds of a peculiar 
stamp, to show their native superiorities. Had you 

14 



106 LECTURE THE FOURTH. 

been born in the nineteenth century, Augustine, you 
would have made but a sorry figure ; your pious medi- 
tations and profound speculations in theology would 
have found but little favor from learned bodies, our 
royal societies, and national institutions. 

St. Augustine. — Quite as much, I should suppose, 
Cuvier, as your own speculations about the antiquity 
of the earth, would have been likely to meet with from 
a synod of bishops in the fifth century, and indeed, you 
say truly, that each age has its own predominant fea- 
tures, tastes, and propensities, and rightly too, that 
each may be fitted and inclined to discharge the 
offices which are allotted it, and to make its own dis- 
tinctive contributions to the general stock of human 
knowledge; and it was not therefore without reason, 
that you were engaged in an exposition of the or- 
der and laws of the animal kingdom, and I was sum- 
moned to a different task, to unfold the economy of 
"the city of God." 

Cuvier. — I am willing to believe, that the task as- 
signed to each, by the requisitions of the age was most 
propitious and happy, and such as no chance could 
have directed. 

St. Augustine. — But theology came first, science has 
succeeded. 

Cuvier. — And perhaps from the succession, the hap- 
piest results may yet follow. 

St. Augustine. — There is reason to presume so 
much, — but your conjecture? 

Cuvier. — I see but this, Augustine, that your " city 
of God" is far too resplendent an object for the weak 
and feeble sight of mortals to contemplate, and that 
there is needed a mirror, if I may say so, to reflect its 
splendors, with so mild and natural a light, that its 
form may be seen, without its overpowering brightness; 



NATURAL. HISTORY OF MAN. 107 

and if the sciences of modern ages can supply this de- 
sideratum, (as I have a presentiment they may,) suc- 
ceeding times will have cause to congratulate them- 
selves on the possession of double advantages, — they 
will have the light of your period with the demonstra- 
tions of ours, — in practical union. 

St. Augustine. — Your anticipations coincide with 
my own hopes, and 1 see in the order of nature, and 
especially in the arrangements of the animal kingdom, 
the very mirror you speak of. 

Cuvier. — And a very perfect mirror, indeed, it seems 
to me. 

St. Augustine.— And so much the more glorious, 
when men shall make the right use of it. 

Cuvier. — But do you see any reason to apprehend, 
that this may be reluctantly done, — or what signs of 
our times do you observe from a favorable position? 

St. Augustine. — I entertain good hopes, Cuvier, but 
as you have just now said, that you considered our age 
to have been too exclusively theological, too much 
addicted, 1 presume you mean, to the abstractions of 
religion, or too easily misled by the delusive lights of 
opinion, so I see your times ready to incur a danger of 
a similar kind, or rather indeed already in the midst 
of it. 

Cuvier. — -I am not sure that I understand what dan- 
ger in particular you allude to. 

St. Augustine. — The danger of being too much 
enamored with their own discoveries, Cuvier, — no 
slight one, you will allow, or one which a wise man 
would not most ardently wish to be delivered from. 

Cuvier. — I must confess it is so, Augustine, the 
most fascinating species of danger ; but yet it does not 
strike me, that our age is so much exposed on this 
score, as some others ; we have discarded the fallacies 



108 LECTURE THE FOURTH. 

of absurd opinion, and fixed our scrutiny on the laws 
of nature; not systems, but facts, now challenge the 
admiration of mankind. Surely our own speculations 
no longer mislead us. 

St. Augustine. — And so it always is, Cuvier; each 
age believes that to be firm ground, where it is itself 
treading. For, do you suppose, that the fifth century 
believed, that they were contending only for their own 
opinions, when they were vindicating the true texts 
and doctrines of the sacred Scriptures. But we are 
short-sighted, Cuvier, remarkably short-sighted; — and 
your century and the last having entered on a fresh 
field of investigation, have become blind to the value of 
that better truth, which was at least, earnestly sought, 
if not actually attained in former ages. And because 
physical truth is now the main object of your affection 
and search, you have nearly forgotten, that there is any 
other in existence. 

Cuvier. — But at least you will acknowledge that we 
have succeeded in the attainment of our object? 

St. Augustine. — With due allowance, Cuvier ; — and 
some of you have attained it, and are modest enough to 
appreciate its quality and degree : but not such I think, 
is the general spirit of the age, and of this I speak. 

Cuvier. — What is, Augustine, pray declare ; let the 
unprejudiced light of the fifth century fall upon the 
nineteenth, that we may see ourselves, and also you. 

St. Augustine. — I will only indicate what I feel and 
think, most noble Cuvier, and your candor will excuse. 
But it seems to me an error of your period, that it is 
too much disposed to consider what it has discovered 
of truth, in any case, as the whole that belongs to it, 
and from the admiration of a few circumstances de- 
tected by experiments and instruments, is prone to 
fancy that it has led the truth captive, and that the 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 109 

very work indeed of Omnipotence is subjected to its 
gaze; — and in short, Cuvier, you appear to me, (I 
speak of the multitude of philosophers,) to be falling 
into the same error, in regard to physical science, 
which was so fatal to us in the fifth century, in regard 
to Divine knowledge. The real Word of God was 
lost sight of, in fastening our attention exclusively on 
those points of its doctrines which we endeavored to 
bring within the compass of our definitions and cate- 
gories. And many of the simple, at last, had a juster 
impression of the whole than the learned, who, in the 
examination of minute parts, lost sight of the general 
bearing, and the divine inspiration. Your errors, I say, 
in your own province, are not very unlike to those ; 
you are constantly mistaking the circumstances of 
natural operations for the things themselves, and the 
grandeur of nature is felt the less for it, and your own 
importance the more. So that, let me tell you, the arro- 
gance of the age is become excessive, (1 hope many are 
exempt,) and you have not only lost sight of the living 
cause of physical phenomena, but do not even see the 
more natural and obvious grandeur of the effects, while 
from a species of self-admiration you laud your own 
times, and depreciate ours, that one might be inclined 
to believe, that wisdom was not born until the eighteenth 
century at least, and did not learn to speak until the 
nineteenth, — when you have invented for her a new 
language of chemical and other learned terms, which, 
at the same time serve very well to emblazon your 
own discoveries, — to rivet your attention on these and 
on yourselves. 

Cuvier. — But you must allow that this language has 
become necessary? 

St. Augustine. — I am very far from being disposed to 



110 LECTURE THE FOURTH. 

undervalue the language or the facts, which it serves 
to express; but you know what an influence words 
exercise on the minds of the multitude ; and while the 
new vocabulary of science recalls those parts of physi- 
cal actions which are explained, it leaves the others, 
much the most numerous and generally the most admi- 
rable, altogether out of sight, so that a more broken and 
imperfect view of the beauty and greatness of those 
natural occurrences is, at last, often taken, than if the 
mind were left to its own general and unbiassed im- 
pressions of them. 

Cuvier. — I must confess there is reason in what you 
say, and I acknowledge that this evil is incident to the 
popular views of modern discoveries. 

St. Augustine. — And it will receive the best illus- 
tration from your own science of anatomy and physio- 
logy. We preachers of the fifth century, whose fund 
of natural knowledge was exceedingly scanty, indulged 
at least a feeling of reverence and awe, when we con- 
templated the works of nature, and we called them the 
works of God. And when we spoke of man, it was as 
the image of God, for we had not yet learned from 
anatomy this material science, to think of man as an 
image of the animals. 

Cuvier. — Then you viewed him generally, not par- 
ticularly ? 

St. Augustine. — True, we did so. 

Cuvier. — But what think you then of the compari- 
son now more common, I mean that to which you 
refer, that man wears the image of animated nature, 
and is at the head of the scale, the supreme animal, 
who, " with front serene, governs the rest ?" 

St. Augustine. — It introduces naturalism into the 
ideas of the crowd, the unintelligent crowd of servile 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. Ill 

philosophers, who have never seen what you see, 
Cuvier, and never will, until they acknowledge the 
same supernal light. 

Cuvier. — I am loth to believe it. 

St. Augustine. — But it is true, — take notice only 
in what manner they view the most exalted acts of 
life, — they really see nothing in them but the modern 
discoveries of their analysis. What a mystery to us 
was breathing, — the constant remembrancer of that 
day of Creation, when " God formed man of the dust 
of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath 
of life," and when we reflected on the respiration of a 
human being we saw, as it were, that divine transaction 
before us: it was a standing memorial to us of the most 
conspicuous work of creation, and a seal of its truth, 
and we therefore regarded it with an almost trembling 
reverence. But now your modern philosophy has dis- 
covered what? that when we breathe we appro- 
priate oxygen, and that caloric and carbon are disen- 
gaged; and descanting on these wonders of her own 
finding, has nearly extinguished that natural sentiment 
of religion, with which these, the most sacred of the 
works of nature are accustomed to be regarded by all, 
who look at them rather in their own native unble- 
mished beauty, than as expounded in the terms of 
science. 

Cuvier. — But you do not consider it forbidden to 
explore into the mysteries of nature, and to detect the 
laws of physical action ? 

St. Augustine. — No, Cuvier, no; and it is possible it 
may be done modestly, and by those who do not see 
nature the less vividly and naturally as a whole, on 
account of the few notices they have taken of the fixed 
order of events. These are performing a service, the 
importance of which has yet to be appreciated. That 



112 LECTURE THE FOURTH. 

it may be so, the spirit of the past must re-descend on 
the spirit of the present, and the infant must mix with 
man. 

Cuvier. — I understand you to say, that the infantile 
simplicity of primitive times must be combined with 
the stern philosophy of the present age. 

St. Augustine. — Even so. 

Cuvier. — But what points of probable harmony do 
you perceive? 

St. Jlugustine. — I perceive many. And neither do I 
despair that an amicable intercourse may be established 
between them, since what should hinder that ages as 
well as countries should engage in an exchange of their 
advantages, that the superfluities of the one may supply 
the deficiencies of the other. I will not be so wedded 
to prejudice as to say that the fifth has no need of the 
nineteenth century ; I do not claim for my age a supe- 
riority of knowledge, but a greater elevation of mind, — 
no, not that, but I should say a more rational end, for 
it was to find God in every thing, and to delineate his 
attributes ; and this, I am sure, is a worthier pursuit, 
than to court nature ambitiously, and to settle her 
laws ; — but at the same time I must confess that our 
ignorance of nature often beguiled us into superstition, 
and our partial acquaintance with her laws limited our 
resources of illustration. 

Cuvier. — I am rejoiced to hear, St. Augustine, that 
you are ready then to concede to us this merit, that we 
have at least checked the progress of superstition, and 
provided a fund of agreeable information. 

St. Augustine. — And it is here indeed where you 
reap a just distinction ; — and it will be no mean praise, 
I think, that you have opened these rich sources of 
discovery. You have furnished theology with a new 
language, and that the most expressive kind, because 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 113 

congenial : for the expression of natural facts and their 
laws affords the most appropriate symbols, and, if I 
may so say, connate, — for the exposition of theological 
truth. And this truly is a most valuable acquisition, 
especially now, that the language of theology has be- 
come technical and obsolete, and lost its power over 
the human understanding. 

Cuvier. — Then we philosophers of modern times, 
according to this account, have been employing our- 
selves, all this while, in constructing a new language 
for the use of you, the theologians, and of settling its 
grammar and syntax ? 

St. Augustine. — Assuredly, Cuvier, for in this light 
precisely do I now view your valuable labors; and 
surely you cannot consider the services which you have 
been thus rendering to the best interests of mankind, 
as insignificant or deserving of regret ? 

Cuvier. — By no means, — and I can only express my 
sense of gratification, in having at last drawn from you 
a confession, that neither has the nineteenth century 
been wanting in useful contributions to the general 
benefit of the human race. 

St. Augustine. — No, Cuvier, I never could hold from 
your times that honor ; — I would only gladly lessen or 
curb that over-weening conceit which seems to have 
seized the men of your generation, that no real wisdom 
was ever sought after, far less obtained, until the dawn 
of your modern epoch : here lies your error, here your 
danger ; for the objects we had in view, and especially 
the Christians, who lived in the centuries before us, — 
however imperfectly reached, — were still of the noblest 
and best kind, — no other than to obtain a direct and 
certain knowledge of that Being, whose spirit directs 
nature, and has impressed upon her the most benevo- 
lent and unerring laws. 

15 



114 LECTURE THE FOURTH. 

Cuvier. — But you failed in the attempt. 

St. Augustine. — We did often, but mostly in the 
expression of our views, for our sentiments were more 
just than our language. 

Cuvier. — And you expect now to be more success- 
ful, — with the benefit of this new language ? 

St. Augustine. — Yes, for the works of God being 
connate with his Word, when the laws of the former 
are perfectly ascertained, they will be a just expression 
of the truths of the latter. 

Cuvier. — Then, glorious philosophy of the nine- 
teenth century, if such indeed, are the distinctions 
which await it! 

St. Augustine. — It will be invested with a light not 
its own, the purpureum lumen Juventoe. 

Cuvier. — It will be beautiful as the earth itself, 
under the first beams of the morning. 

St. Augustine. — And the sight you must allow, is a 
glorious one, when mountains, lawns, and streams first 
burst upon the view, under the light of the rising sun. 

Cuvier. — And such, you conceive, will be the result, 
when the light of the theology of the earlier ages is 
poured upon the varied and extended science of mod- 
ern times? 

St. Augustine. — Such are my anticipations. 

Cuvier. — May they be fulfilled, but the signs of the 
times 

St. Augustine. — On the whole, I consider them aus- 
picious, — a gentle spirit of peace, — an unwearying 
appliance of investigation, — the wars of theology sink- 
ing fast into oblivion and contempt, unless among the 
silliest of mankind, who are fain still to fight their bat- 
tles over again ; — but the wisest and the true-hearted 
have engaged in a better contest, — to subdue the 
frowardness of their own spirits, — to find the pledge 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 115 

and earnest of truth, intertwined with the olive of 
peace, rather than the laurels of victory. 

Cuvier. — I accept the omen, — but what of philoso- 
phy? 

St. Augustine. — Philosophy will advance. 

Cuvier. — I am to understand then, that you are of 
those, who look for progress, and expect not the human 
race to be stationary ? 

St. Jlugustine. — No more than the individual. The 
earlier ages of Christianity w T ere the infancy of the 
modern races ; and the best and most natural impres- 
sions were then made, — to be deepened by philosophy 
and reason. But theology takes precedence of philoso- 
phy, and but corroborates her truths, as age but ex- 
plains the impressions of childhood. 

Cuvier. — I most cheerfully concede this point now, 
my most youthful Augustine, and the more so, for that 
my best hopes are excited by our interview. And 
surely this intercourse of distant ages has shed a new 
halo of light and glory around the history of man, — 
since such are the renovations, which probably await 
all the sciences, and pursuits, and aspirations, of hu- 
manity. 

St. Augustine. — And indeed, my beloved Cuvier, 
such may most certainly be expected. 
Cuvier. — I hail their rise. 



LECTURE THE FIFTH; 



ON THE 



PREDOMINANCE OF THE RELIGIOUS SENTIMENT, 
IN THE EARLY AGES. 



The failure of all attempts by philosophers to define precisely the Christian 
religion, a proof of its divine origin. — In the progress of nations, the religious 
faculties are first developed. — In this state of the human mind only, could a 
Tevelation of the Deity have been made. — Hence in the writings and monu- 
ments of early ages, the religious idea predominates over the scientific. — It 
is an error of modern times, that they seek science even in the sacred Scrip- 
tures. — A fabled representation of a tablet, with concentric zones, within 
which the animal kingdom is classified, — the human form embossing the 
whole ; — designed to show that the animal creation reflects and typifies the 
attributes and affections of man, — a fact distinctly felt by the earlier ages. — 
These, through their arts of emblematizing their ideas of God, fell into idola- 
try; — so modern times through scientific definitions, are in danger of ob- 
scuring the true import of divine revelation. 

The age of St. Augustine was rife of theological 
questions. I spoke of it in my last lecture as char- 
acterized by Christian simplicity ; I find it necessary to 
retract part of that eulogium, for although this existed 
still in a great degree, among the great body of Chris- 
tians, yet the tone of abstruse speculation rose too high 
to allow the gentler and milder graces of the Christian 
religion to display themselves. The Greek philosophy 
corrupted the simplicity of the Christian religion, and 
by much analysis and definition of its tenets, confused 
and degraded the undescribable beauty and grandeur of 
our sacred faith. There is nothing which more clearly 



118 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

establishes the divine original and constitution of the 
Christian religion, than the failure of all attempts by 
its philosophers to tell what it is, and after what man- 
ner precisely, and for what reasons it produces those 
salutary effects on the human mind, which we all can 
witness, but none of us can fully comprehend. The 
whole subject is characterized by the same mystery, 
which we find to veil all those operations of nature, 
which fall under our inspection; we see certain phe- 
nomena and established relations, but when we ques- 
tion ourselves in regard to their essential connections 
and necessary laws, we are lost in useless and painful 
conjecture. Do we know any thing perfectly in re- 
gard to the animal actions of our bodies ; do we know 
how the food we receive into the stomach is assimilated 
to our system ? — we know it is subjected to the action 
of a menstruum, which we name the gastric juice, but 
alas, how little knowledge of the actual process does 
this discovery or this term convey to us; — it is the 
name of one of the means of an action which we do 
not understand, and which we may safely predict we 
never can fully comprehend, although it is quite pos- 
sible, that other relations and facts and phenomena in 
regard to it may be discovered. But every act that is 
purely natural, and not artificial, every act that has the 
seal of Divinity upon it, and not the impression merely 
of art, is in virtue of its origin incomprehensible, that is, 
incapable of being defined or conceived exactly as it 
really is. It has certain obvious marks, which serve to 
make it known, to describe it, so that it can be identi- 
fied, but the entire assemblage of its qualities, and their 
mutual adaptations and actions are beyond the reach of 
human intelligence. Who can understand, that such 
an organ as an eye, and none other, is adequate to the 
production of vision; who could imagine that special 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 119 

nerves were necessary to receive distinctive impressions, 
now of taste, now of sound, now of smell, now of vis- 
ion ; or who could have understood without antecedent 
experience, that even nerves were at all necessary for 
the exhibition of such actions; or who knows what 
these nerves are, unless as to their general uses ; — do 
we know their composition or the kind of action which 
they sustain ? — we are entirely in the dark, in regard 
to these divine contrivances, or the methods which be- 
long to them ; — and we even reckon it no small acqui- 
sition, to have attained to this much, namely, to under- 
stand, that we know nothing at all justly, and verily, 
about any of these things. And the reason is, that 
there is interwoven with the texture of every divine 
work, the symbol of infinity, and yet each work or act 
of nature has that upon it which invites our examina- 
tion, — seems to promise an entire explanation of itself. 
This is, among infinite other proofs, one also of the 
goodness and wisdom of the Deity, namely, that al- 
though he has constructed and planned each work, so 
as to be incomprehensible, as to its essential nature, yet 
there is always a sufficient number of its relations ex- 
posed to our understanding, that we may perceive 
them, and obtain a glimpse of that wisdom, that skill 
ineffable with which every part is devised. This is the 
highest reward of our reason, on the field of natural in- 
vestigation. To see but in part, to know but in part, 
is the condition, on which we at present enjoy our in- 
tellectual being. But the Christian religion, I have 
said, bears in this also, the stamp of its divine original, 
that all attempts of mortal men fully to describe it, and 
to exhibit it in their books and their discourses with 
those very true and living features, which it shows as 
it looks from heaven, have proved hitherto vain, and 
not seldom pernicious. Every description of the 



120 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

human body which rivets our attention more steadily 
on its wonderful phenomena, and renders new to us, 
what was before familiar, is beneficial, as unveiling the 
workmanship of God, and usefully affecting the mind ; 
but farther than this, those mechanical explanations of 
living actions which every one can feel, do not describe 
the millionth part of the mechanism and truth which 
they would unfold, are prejudicial and injurious to the 
mind rather than otherwise, and obscure the natural 
dignity of the subject which they were designed to 
explain. The same remark will apply to the Christian 
religion; the grace, dignity, and sweetness of the living 
body of truth, is beyond all our powers of description, 
and although indeed, there must be a divine reason for 
every item of its arrangement, and the fashion of every 
part be divine, yet often must our attempts to exhibit 
these minutiae of perfection, and to describe their uses, 
be miserably inadequate, sometimes perhaps even per- 
nicious ; for men not being able to see the thing in our 
definitions of it, mistake the distorted, imperfect, soiled 
image, for the object, and hence despise that which 
they have never either seen or known. 

These observations are necessary to be made, in order 
to understand some very wonderful phenomena in regard 
to the natural history of man, which I may have occa- 
sion to refer to, and which 1 wish now briefly to state ; 
and they are phenomena, which are intimately blended 
with the history of religion, and have been but slightly 
noticed by philosophers. And they refer to the intellec- 
tual characters of nations and the prevailing bent of their 
investigations, and that too, in the different periods of 
their career. And lest there should appear to be no rea- 
son in what I am to advance, or no analogy, — I wish to 
recall to your minds the facts, to which 1 adverted in a 
former lecture, of a temporary provision or mechanism, 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 121 

sometimes set up by nature, and afterwards dispensed 
with ; and I gave as an instance the temporary appara- 
tus of the bronchia or gills in the tadpole, which are 
afterwards laid aside, as the animal advances to a more 
perfect state, and enjoys an atmospheric respiration. 
These to be sure are instances of physical adaptations 
to circumstances; but at all events they show that 
nature is not bound to one order of action in bringing 
even the same creature through all its stages of devel- 
opment. While the preservation of the individual is 
the end throughout, the means adapted to secure that 
end are shifted, remodeled, obliterated, entirely changed. 
1 do not wish you to deduce from this instance of tem- 
porary adjustments any more than it will actually 
sanction, but at all events it is ascertained, that in the 
same creature, nature has provided two distinct sets of 
organs of breathing or respiratory machines, one em- 
ployed in the earlier stage of development, the other 
in the latter or more perfect. There is something 
analogous to this in the case of the human race ; there 
are two orders of faculties in the human mind, the 
religious and the scientific, and the first respect the 
Deity, and the other nature, or the person of the work- 
man and his works. Now it is a remarkable fact in the 
natural history of man, that the first order of faculties, 
namely the religious, should be the first evolved, in the 
advancement of nations, and the scientific the last. 
There is a grand temporary adjustment here, in regard 
to a future end, as remarkable quite, as the temporary 
apparatus of respiration just alluded to. 

In the ruder and earlier ages of the world, man- 
kind respire the atmosphere of religion rather than 
science ; they see more of Deity and less of nature than 
in later times. I do not say they are better men, but 
they are more religious men; their minds are more 

16 



122 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

deeply imbued with the spirit of heaven, or tainted 
with the breath of hell than ours. It is from overlook- 
ing this great fact in the natural history of man, that 
numerous misconceptions are entertained. We smile 
at their interpretations of natural phenomena, — Vulcan 
fabricating Jupiter's thunderbolts, — Ceres, the goddess 
of corn, first teaching men to plough the ground, — the 
gods of the rivers pouring out the fertilizing floods from 
the urns they hold in their hands. In all these expla- 
nations they sought not natural or scientific reasons, 
and held them in no estimation ; they merely sought 
the indulgence of their religious tastes and propensities, 
the gratification of that temporary instinct, with which 
all rude nations are endowed, and for the wisest purpo- 
ses, that a foundation may be laid in religion, and in 
impressions of the Deity, for the future and perfect 
superstructure of human society. And shall we say 
that these impressions are all false and absurd? — The 
images, in which they are represented may be so, the 
type may be badly or unfaithfully struck, but still the 
design and end of the impression is just; much more 
so, than when science mingles itself with theology, and 
breaks the integrity of the impression in the attempt to 
copy it ; in the first instance, the impression may be 
imperfect from the defect of the material on which it 
is made, but yet may still be in a certain sense, divine 
and original; but the copy taken of it by science is 
clearly artificial, and therefore a counterfeit. So far 
therefore, from its being made a reproach against reli- 
gion, that its forms spring up among a rude and illite- 
rate people, it is perhaps the best guaranty of its truth 
and reality, that it has originated among such a people ; 
the impressible and infantile faculties only were then 
developed; and the elementary characters of nature, 
in which is written the will of the Deity, were then 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 123 

read in their natural, pure, and unsophisticated light, 
and when afterwards reduced to artificial writing, 
it was not as matter of philosophy or abstract rea- 
soning, for that springs from science, but as matter 
of fact still, — matter of fact revealing theological 
truth. Thus, when they looked at the heaven and 
the earth, not with the eyes of science, but with 
the eyes of religion, they recognized that the gods 
had formed these. When the human mind was in 
this stage of its development in Asia, through that 
benignant Providence, which has produced all this 
beneficent order which we behold, a revelation was 
made to man of the one true and living God : — if it be 
asked why the same distinct and vivid and impressive 
revelation is not made now in the same way in ordi- 
nary men — I ask in return why the circulation of the 
blood, for instance, should be different in the adult 
from what it is in the foetus ? " The physical circum- 
stances have altogether changed," you say; — and in 
the other, the spiritual circumstances have altogether 
changed. And if there is no violation of the order of 
nature, as we choose to call it, merely in consequence 
of a new direction given to the current of the vital 
fluid, why should we deem it any infringement of the 
established laws of spiritual order, that the flow of the 
divine truth through the human soul should take place 
differently now, and in the infantile states of human 
society. And are there not temporary divine provisions 
to be expected in the one case as well as in the other, 
— in the moral development of the species, just as 
naturally and rightly, as in the physical development 
of the individual? And judging from the aspect of one 
stage of the development, what good reason have we 
to establish, from that partial view, the necessary and 
indispensable order of the whole? The laws of crea- 



124 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

tion no doubt, are unchangeable, but we must be sure 
that we take in the whole, from the first to the last, in 
pronouncing upon them, especially where there is a 
visible progression, as in the case of the human species. 
— And what shall we say to another view of the sub- 
ject; — if there did exist, as we firmly believe there did, 
antecedently to the art of writing, and our present 
modes of reasoning, a people, who derived from the 
simple instincts of their being (the sweet, and clear, and 
unequivocal impressions of their Maker's Hand and 
Mind on their minds,) the perfect and distinct con- 
sciousness that He is One, and the Author of all which 
they beheld good and beautiful, — I say, if it could have 
been made known to this people through the anticipa- 
tions of prophecy, that there would arise after them a 
race of men, who would gather all these impressions 
and thoughts, and this knowledge, not from their own 
minds, and the direct communications of God, but 
from books, — from without, and certain artificial marks 
called writing, and sounds still more artificial, and cer- 
tain heaps and combinations of these called reasoning, 
but so confused and indistinct withal that angry con- 
flicts and much uncertainty would prevail, respecting 
even the most elementary and vital truths, to them- 
selves so clear, and indisputable, as for example, re- 
specting the being of God, and the kind of worship 
most acceptable to Him, — could such simple people 
have readily conceived all this, or seen how it could 
possibly occur, unless as something miraculous ? That 
they would not readily have believed it, we are not at 
liberty to think, since even the shadow of infidelity 
was to them unknown, and we suppose the intimations 
of the prophecy to have been divine. In fact it is 
most unphilosophical to suppose that the same mode of 
becoming intelligent existed in all ages as now ; espe- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 125 

cially since we see in the eastern nations, even now, as 
well as among barbarians, that those faculties by which 
men apprehend a Deity of some sort or other, are more 
developed among them than among others. And there 
are therefore the strongest grounds for the presump- 
tion, (even if we were not otherwise informed of it) 
that at a period much anterior to our modern civiliza- 
tion a revelation of the one God was made to mankind, 
when the simple fact could be admitted with reve- 
rence and undoubting belief, and the integrity and 
justness of those sublime impressions be left pure and 
uncontaminated by the touch of an earth-born philoso- 
phy. If this be so, then we have arrived at an impor- 
tant fact in the natural history of man, a fact greatly 
more valuable than any we have yet hit upon ; for if 
this be actually so, namely, that the religious impres- 
sions of the universe, the divine characters written on 
it, be the first that are stamped upon the human mind, 
and this, too, through a marked law and ordination 
of the Deity for the sake of the future well-being 
of e all succeeding generations, — that as the heart and 
brain are the organs first developed in the new-formed 
man, being those most essential to physical life, so the 
religious mind is the first unfolded in the progress of 
nations, and the religious impressions are the first 
made, being the most essential to the social state, — it 
will follow that in all the early writings and monu- 
ments of the first ages, religion must predominate over 
science, God over nature, and nature over art. Now 
you will recollect, that we showed, in a former lecture, 
that it was possible so to regard an animal as to see 
nothing more in it but what is merely mechanical, 
and that some have so considered animals, — "living 
machines;" but this is to invert the order of view; 
and certainly the natural as well as right perception, is 



126 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

to regard first the animal, and to consider the mechani- 
cal aspect as but the basis or subservient ground on 
which the idea of the animal is rendered only more 
conspicuous and illustrious. And thus it is that the 
reigning idea, as it were, bends and turns every thing 
into itself. If the mechanical be first regarded, con- 
trary to the natural, however, as well as right percep- 
tion, even the animal itself may at last be affirmed to 
be a machine ; but, contrariwise, if the animal be first 
regarded, then even the very mechanism of the parts 
itself will come correctly to be considered as animal. 
And in this we can see an emblem and illustration of 
the religion of the first ages : as respects the mechanical 
or physical laws of nature, they neither affirmed nor 
denied them ; their minds were altogether intent on a 
different idea, — and that was God ; and every thing 
was seen under the light of that perception, until even 
time and space themselves vanished like shadows 
beneath its brilliancy : organization, mechanism, natu- 
ral occurrences, were all things, but merely subser- 
vient things ; this was the note first struck, and it 
vibrated afterwards through the entire frame-work of 
nature — in the beginning god created the 
heaven and the earth. Read and remark how 
this predominant idea recurs in every succeeding verse 
of that glorious chapter of creation : read and you will 
perceive how our modern science dwindles into insig- 
nificance beneath the majesty of a pure and ancient 
religion ; how even time and space themselves, on 
which all our science is built, sink into obscurity and 
littleness before the face of Him who created them, 
and to whom a thousand years are but as one day. 
God said let the dry land appear, and it was so, — 
here, an entire series of physical revolutions of im- 
mense extent are contracted into an instant, in order 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 127 

that the mind may see that the emergence of the new 
continents from the sea is the act of Divine omnipo- 
tence and providence ; and it is not the less so, although 
geology and the scrutiny of science should now indi- 
cate that it may have occupied many millions of years 
in its accomplishment. God said let the dry land ap- 
pear, and it was so, — here the theological truth predo- 
minates over the scientific truth, and affects us accord- 
ingly with its natural and true sublimity. But on 
these subjects a hint is enough ; it is my business, in 
these lectures, not to expound theology, but to exhibit 
the natural history of man, and the rise of philosophy. 
I would merely sum up all I have to say on this subject 
with this affirmation and comparison, that as in the 
body of man there is nothing which is not human, 
while at the same time the animal and mechanical are 
therein in subserviency to this, and humanized, so in 
that body of revealed truth, there exists nothing at all 
which is not divine and religious, and that all that is 
geological and historical is but subserviently so, and 
exists not by any means for itself alone, but as a body 
of matter to support, to exhibit, and to convey the 
other. But, as I have said, the order of mental facul- 
ties pre-eminently developed in modern ages is scien- 
tific, and hence it is, that, in our constant hankering 
after science, we seek it even in the divine Scriptures, 
forgetting that it is there merely subservient, not prin- 
cipal, imbued with a light not its own, as the matter 
which becomes part of a living body is endowed with 
its vitality. In the natural history of man, I have had 
already occasion to show the error of those, who do not 
see in the animal body the animal so blended with the 
mechanical and the chemical, that these merely seem 
to be, the other really is, all, — and again, in the human 
body, the human so intimately blended with the 



128 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

animal, that the former is every thing, the latter only 
appears to be : — I am now called upon to note a more 
dangerous error, that of those who, in the interpretation 
of a Book compiled in the earlier ages, under the espe- 
cial providence of God, when theology was principally 
regarded, do not see that the divine is there so blended 
with the human and the natural, that the human and 
the natural have become themselves divine, — 

"Fountain of light, thyself invisible 
Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sit'st 
Throned inaccessible, but when thou shad'st 
The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud 
Drawn round about thee, like a radiant shrine, — 
Dark with excessive bright Jthy skirts appear!" 

But I am glad to be able to illustrate this subject in 
a different manner, and from a source which will not 
be considered undeserving of attention, although deli- 
cacy forbids me more particularly to disclose it. 

" The engraving was a very remarkable one," said 
the stranger, " and such that I had never before seen 
any thing resembling it." What engraving do you 
mean ? said I. " That tablet of stone which I before 
spoke of to you, but to which you did not seem to pay 
much attention." Pray describe it more minutely, 
said I ; it may perhaps be interesting to those who are 
present to hear your own account of it. 

" It was shown to me, said he, by the philosopher, 
who also gave me a very particular account of the 
signification of each hieroglyphic object which was 
impressed upon the tablet, and which greatly interested 
me. He said that such representations were common 
in the eastern country, and that I would see them, par- 
ticularly in the interior of the Chinese empire. This 
tablet of which I speak belonged to the Temple of the 
Sun, a ruined edifice, for the Persians are no longer 



NATURAL, HISTORY OF MAN. 129 

permitted to indulge their favorite worship of this 
beneficent luminary; but, said the philosopher, many 
monuments still remain throughout the whole country 
of this fascinating species of ancient idolatry. But it 
was a pernicious species of idolatry, observed I. Not 
so, anciently, answered the philosopher, for the idolatry 
was attempered and elevated by a rational conception 
of the meaning of the emblems employed in the wor- 
ship and the unity of God, and his beneficence and 
wisdom, w T ere imaged in the rites which were an- 
ciently observed ; but 1 know not how it is, he farther 
remarked, there is an extreme proneness in all the 
oriental nations to forget the object in the representa- 
tion, — to lose sight of the idea, and to reverence only 
the type. We have had most perfect and expres- 
sive rites in which to symbolize the Godhead, and to 
exhibit the relations of men to the source of intelli- 
gence and life, but they soon became to us dead and 
inert forms of objects, — -books which none can read 
and understand, but which all are willing blindly and 
stupidly to reverence. But that could hardly happen 
in regard to this engraving on this tablet, said I, for 
although 1 do not understand it, yet it seems to me so 
divine and expressive of glorious truths of some order 
or other, that I cannot help admiring it, and feeling 
that there is somewhat lofty and intelligent even in 
those mute figures which are impressed upon it. 

The philosopher then exposed it more fully to view, 
so that I might see every part of it. It was a large cir- 
cular stone, which you would have supposed, from the 
appearance, although the circle seemed perfect and of 
great extent, had not been hewn out into that form 
artificially, but had always existed so naturally. It 
was marked with innumerable zones, formed by con- 
centric circles, — from the centre towards the circum- 

17 



130 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

ference. I tried to count them, but I found I could 
not, for although they seemed at first very distinct, and 
well defined, yet when I attempted to distinguish them 
closely, they ran into one another in so intricate a 
manner that I soon abandoned the attempt as hopeless. 
This is very remarkable, said I to the philosopher ; I 
thought these concentric spaces or zones on this tablet 
were very exactly defined, but the moment I attempt 
to ascertain and to number them, all instantly appears 
confusion, and I lose my distinct impressions of the 
tablet. That, said he, is what almost all strangers 
complain of, those especially who are more curious 
than ordinary ; — for the greater part are satisfied with 
this superficial or general glance of it, and never lose 
the vividness of their first impression, but leave it with 
an admiration perfect and entire. This, I suppose, 
said I, is a part of the wonder or mystery of this 
tablet. Certainly, said he, it is full of significancy. 
But look, said he, more attentively on the zones ; — 
what do you see? I have noticed, said I, from the 
first that each of them is stocked with animals or living 
creatures, which are peculiar to each zone, and not 
found in any of the others; here, said I, at this part 
seem to me to be zebras, — filling this entire space; — 
it is very wonderful !— I thought the limits within 
which they are confined remarkably distinct . and 
clear; but now, — as I stoop more closely to examine 
the lines, — I am again confused; — but there, I am 
sure that orbit is stocked with elephants, — how 
well stamped are these figures, with what a skilful 
chisel has all this been executed; — and this zone I 
recognize as assigned to, — horses, I believe, — and here, 
I am certain, are the sheep, — and here again are 
oxen, — this is wonderfully done; — but these birds in 
alto relievo, how dexterously are they placed there ; — 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 131 

but that farthest extremity, said I, what does it repre- 
sent? The ocean, said he, which }'ou read of in 
iEschylus, the Greek tragedian, as surrounding the 
w T orld, for so their imaginations conceived of it, not as 
a fact, but from such tablet as this, whereon the 
nature of things was represented to them. This then, 
said I, is a picture or representation of the earth, or of 
universal nature, which I behold ? No, said he, it is 
not an ordinary picture, or engraving, or map of nature, 
which you are now looking on, but something of a 
more sacred and higher character. But you shall 
see. Then withdrawing from the tablet to some dis- 
tance, and taking his position there, he desired me to 
approach him. This consecrated tablet, said he, be- 
longed, as I have informed you, to the Temple of the 
Sun ; — what artist engraved it, or designed it, is not 
known ; it is of very high antiquity, and many of the 
figures are now nearly obliterated by age, although so 
great is the number indented upon it, and so curiously 
are these zones you have attempted to trace arranged, 
that none have yet been able to tell either the num- 
ber of them, or their exact limits, or to enumerate the 
species of animals, whether quadrupeds, birds, fishes, or 
insects, which seem to crowd every part of it, and yet 
on farther examination are found to be confined each 
to its own appropriate zone : — and you see what num- 
bers of fishes, said he, on the farther circumference. I 
again took a cursory view of the tablet, from the new 
position I now occupied, and afterwards a more minute 
one, and I was astonished to find that it seemed again 
in many respects new to me, and I could discover a 
greater variety of all sorts of living creatures on its 
surface than I had been able to detect before in the 
first position from which I viewed it. But I still 
noticed the same distinct appearance of the concentric 



132 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

circles and interposed zones, each teeming with its 
own inhabitants. Here, said 1, is order indeed, but 
yet what a labyrinth ! it is an order that bids defiance 
to all my faculties of discrimination to mark it. Be 
contented, said he, you will discover the order more 
perfectly when you do not endeavor to grasp it with 
too close an inspection : it is number without number, 
and limit without limit ; it is finiteness to the careless 
glance, but infiniteness when more attentively re- 
garded. I observe it to be so, said I, for again endea- 
voring to trace these apparently very symmetrical 
lines I find S myself again lost [in confusion. Do not 
again, said he, make the attempt, you will learn more 
by a cursory observation ; — but follow me hither, and 
receive the impression of this tablet, from a still nearer 
position; — remember, I told you the engraving was 
consecrated to the Temple of the Sun ; — let us watch 
then the successive gleams of the sun's light that falls 
upon it, as we look through this thick foliage which 
now intercepts it from our view, — watch, — you will 
see reason to admire still more the skill and ingenuity 
of the sacred artist who designed this work, for I can 
assure you he was no ordinary person, but not less 
remarkable for his philosophy than for his art. But 
do not look too partially, but as it were negligently, 
and on the whole design at once, — and through the 
shade of these green boughs. What do you see ? said 
he. This is very wonderful, indeed ! and the perfec- 
tion and triumph of art, said I ; I see nothing now on 
that tablet but a most graceful and perfect human 
figure, the most beautiful and animated I have ever 
before seen engraven on stone or impressed on canvass. 
TTiese, then, said I, are your arts in the East; they 
indeed surpass all that 1 have ever beheld ; and no 
paintings or sculptures which I have ever seen are to be 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 133 

compared with this mystic representation. It is in- 
deed, said the philosopher, very wonderful, and deserv- 
ing of all the praise you can bestow upon it; — but 
such works are not the product of modern ingenuity ; 
genius and the sight of true beauty are now extinct 
among men ; but for these the Magi among the Per- 
sians were formerly celebrated ; and their arts of design 
and expression were such visible representations of 
their philosophical discoveries or opinions. For I sup- 
pose you are now aware what was designed to be 
represented by this engraving ? I see indistinctly, said 
I, and I beg you will more fully explain some of these 
particulars, and especially this last phenomenon of the 
engraving, which crowns the interest of the whole. 
You discern more clearly now, said he, than you did 
before, that the tablet was not designed to be a repre- 
sentation merely of nature, but visibly to show an 
opinion entertained by the artist respecting man, and 
the specific and general order of nature. That there 
is an order, a plan, and an arrangement, in nature, ob- 
served by the Deity in the construction of the universe, 
he indicated by these lines so distinctly drawn, and 
which you saw so clearly at a first glance ; but that at 
the same time this order is such that it cannot be exact- 
ly discovered or described by science, and the unlimited 
and infinite be drawn within the boundaries and limits 
of the finite, is shown to the life and graphically, by 
that confusion which you complained of, as springing 
up in your mind when you would attempt studiously 
to trace out the marks of these zones and boun- 
daries. Nature has indeed her boundaries and land- 
marks of sacred observation, but they are always most 
obvious to the most unpretending observers ; to these 
they are deeply and distinctly visible on the broad and 
unartificial tablet of nature's engraving. But that you 



134 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

find distinct spaces filled with specific classes of ani- 
mals, the sacred artist (for he must have been at once a 
priest and a philosopher, the two were united in the 
ancient Magi) meant thereby to designate that the 
brute irrational animals are confined in their range of 
existence, not only as respects their localities, but also 
those instincts with which they are endowed, and 
those uses for which they are adapted. For this is a 
remark of antiquity, and particularly noted in the 
writings and in the wisdom of the ancients, that each 
species of animals is circumscribed within a nar- 
row zone of existence, the boundaries of which are 
very exactly established ; all the uses of the horse, for 
instance, could soon be catalogued, and these are at the 
same time inscribed on his form, which bears the natu- 
ral brands and marks of his distinctive nature, — his 
hoof indicating his mode of travelling, — the form of 
his back adapted to the rider, — the instinctive love of 
approbation attaching him to his master, — the natural 
spring of all his limbs, forming a living vehicle : — take 
the ox, — take the sheep, — their certain, their unvary- 
ing instincts, and the form and shape of their bodies, 
and their social predisposition, show how specific their 
use is, and also how confined ; — and note also all the 
classes of the feathered tribes, — and you will find on 
all of them impressed the natural words denoted by 
these terms in artificial, local, partial, exclusive, instru- 
mental, subordinate. This the artist, the designer of 
this tablet had noted in long observation, and impressed 
upon his mind ; he had seen in this manner the grand 
idea of the universe parcelled out by the divine and 
original Artist himself into many characters which thus 
became imitable ; for had not the Deity condescended 
thus to reveal the glory of his unity, in a marked 
variety of harmonizing parts, the conception of the 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 135 

work of God, as the work of God, would have been 
beyond the grasp of finite intelligence; but it is a 
beautiful condescension of the Creator, that He has 
thus exhibited his whole work in parts limited and 
bounded, so that we might recognize it, and perceive it, 
and in some measure describe it and faintly imitate it, 
which we never could have done in the least, if it had 
not been put up in parts, and so rendered subject to 
analysis, and accessible to intelligent admiration. This 
the Persian artist understood ; — he saw from the ar- 
rangement, or plan, or order of nature actually adopted, 
that it was perceptible and yet not comprehensible, that 
we can apprehend but not comprehend the works of 
God ; — for this reason were those spaces so marked off 
on this mystic tablet of art, that they are limited and 
defined, to the first glance and the popular apprehen- 
sion, — they are apprehended readily, but if you will try- 
yet a third time to follow these boundaries to their be- 
ginnings or their endings, you will again find yourself 
lost in inextricable confusion, and instead of seeing 
your way better, you will find it more entangled. But 
yet is it not clear as day, that all these parts exist, and 
that the animal kingdom is a whole, and unit, com- 
posed of many parts? 

Here the stranger informed us that he again inter- 
posed, and observed to the philosopher that he could 
now discover a glimpse of the grand design of the 
artist ; — but tell me, said he to the philosopher, — there 
is yet one thing I do not understand, and that is to 
myself the most marvellous of all; — at this third sta- 
tion, and through this intervening bough of green 
leaves, as the light of the sun fell upon the sculptured 
figures, — in that mellowed and attempered light, we 
discovered, as you showed me, no longer the figures in- 
dividually, but the whole together, as a man! This 



136 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

appears to me a most exquisite effect of art, and I ap- 
prehend the philosophical emblem intended by it must 
be no less astonishing and grand, although I confess I do 
not well understand it. You perceive, said the philoso- 
pher, when you inspected the whole of these grouped 
figures, in all their copartments, after having looked 
attentively, as well as cursorily at all of them, you did 
not find the human figure. 1 did not, said he, and I 
was rather surprised at that, although I did not express 
my surprise. 

But, said the philosopher, you shall now understand 
it: for you perceive that each one of these animals is a 
specific or partial thing; — these bounded spaces within 
which they range, each race apart, show that distinctly; 
none of these then is lord, there is none so powerful or 
prevailing, as that his zone extends over the whole. 
None said the stranger. 

Then, said the philosopher, here is the mastery of 
the artist, and here too, the superiority of his philoso- 
phy; if man had occupied a zone there in alto or basso 
relievo, although covered with the hues of golden light, 
and resplendent with the beams of heaven, he still 
would have ranked among the animals, of which yet 
he is the lord, and he would have taken on a local 
character, when nevertheless no localities can bound 
his dominions or his superiority. The artist, through 
this signal device, by which you were enabled to see 
only the human figure gloriously displayed, here now 
from this third position, amid this intervening foliage, 
and in that softened light, — has told more by his chisel, 
and this entrancing view of its effects, than all the 
words of the Persian language ever could have made 
known of the relations of man to the rest of the animal 
creation, — far more, I am afraid, than I could now 
explain to you ? but yet I will attempt it. 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 137 

Do so, I beseech you, said the stranger. 

It seems to me, said the philosopher, he probably 
meant — for such in some degree was the philosophy of 
the ancient Magi, — he probably meant to shew that 
man holds under him, as parts of himself, the specific 
appetites and dispositions of the whole animal creation, 
and that these, in their individual genera, typify as ani- 
mals, parts of their sovereign and lord, each reflecting, 
so to speak, some attribute or affection of the rational 
human being, which emblem is the livery which they 
wear, and by which they stand acknowledged his 
servants, and obedient and submissive to his sway. 
Thus they are altogether rudimental, animal outlines 
of his form, and emulating his perfection, — rude sculp- 
tured figures in stone, — fragments of a great design, 
but which is not understood, until the man is seen 
which gives relief to the whole ; — but neither is man 
discovered, but in that light of the sun which is shed 
on creation, when forthwith nature becomes the mirror 
of God, and his image alone is revealed amid the pro- 
fusion of created objects; — and philosophy beholds it 
from the secluded retreats of nature, through the soft 
and attempered light of science and of wisdom. 

You consider then, said the stranger, that man is the 
image of God reflected on the mirror of nature, and 
that philosophy from her third and favorite position, in 
the light of heaven, its glare softened, through science, 
this bough of tender leaves, is enabled to discover this. 

My friend, said the philosopher, I am not very sure 
that I explain this design to you successfully, 1 propose 
to you only hints; — 1 have been myself often and 
again here to survey this mystic tablet, and I am 
never able altogether to satisfy myself as to its entire 
import; and it seemed to me just now, that I could put 

18 



138 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

you in perfect possession of the intentions of the artist; 
I seemed to have grasped the bold outlines of the enig- 
matical representation, but when I have tried to make 
them known to you, like that tracery of divine order on 
the stone itself which you sought to follow up, it seems 
in a great measure to have escaped me. But I beseech 
you look again on that tablet itself, as the gleams of sun- 
shine fall upon it and between these soft green leaves, 
and mark once more the entire sculptured hieroglyph- 
ics of animated nature, — how beautifully, how perfectly 
they pourtray to our view, the human form divine, in 
glorious lineaments. I cannot but admire, said the 
stranger, an art so perfect as this ; but surely art is 
never so beautiful as when it reflects the philosophy 
of religion and of man. The art, said the philosopher, 
is almost too beautiful; I could almost wish it had 
been less so ; it was through art that the Persians at 
last, and all the east fell into idolatry; they emblema- 
tized so perfectly their ideas of God, that the ignorant 
multitude instead of having their minds raised to God 
by the arts which spoke of his goodness and wisdom, 
had on the contrary their minds drawn down from 
their Maker, and fixed on the art, which thus became 
the object of their idolatry. And so were the gifts of 
God, which are these powers of embodying just con- 
ceptions, at last converted into the means of dishonoring 
or forgetting Him. 

Your Magi then, said the stranger, were at one time 
wise and intelligent. Yes, truly; replied the philoso- 
pher, but their wisdom has been eclipsed by some sad 
clouds of error and ignorance ; and even in Christendom 
I perceive that these clouds have also come over your 
bright sun of revelation. 

You are not ignorant then of what has befallen us in 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 139 

Christendom ? Why should I ? I am myself a devotee 
of the Christian religion ; the apostle Thomas traveled 
in the east ; the good seed has not all heen choked. 

But you admire these relics of heathen temples? 

I do, for they are fragments, obscured and shattered, 
of a noble revelation once akin to Christianity. 

I should like to see that, said the stranger. 

And you may see it, said the philosopher, — but on 
another occasion. 

None so suitable as the present, said the stranger ; — 
for the sun has still to run, ere he dip his evening disk 
in the red sea. 

But the philosopher could not be prevailed upon 
more fully to explain his sentiments on the subject so 
as to be intelligible; but he made some additional re- 
marks of a profound nature, which, said the stranger, 1 
cannot now recall, and did not at the time fully com- 
prehend. But he spoke much of our sacred books, 
and of the low estimation in which we held them 
from ignorance of their real value, or a distaste of the 
wisdom contained in them : but, said he, even St. Au- 
gustine might have taught you better, for he was not 
insensible to their true worth. Time, said St. Augus- 
tine, began with creation, and its periods are distin- 
guished by evening and morning; but whence proceeded 
those distinctions, for as yet during three days, no sun 
had gleamed from the firmament, he could only con- 
jecture, but his conjecture was sublime, and showed a 
mind allied with the greatness of the subject, — that 
this light was derived from the City of God, the super- 
nal abodes of the blessed, and that the evening and the 
morning were the shade and dawning of intelligence 
in human souls, through the Creator's word. 

But was he right ? 



140 LECTURE THE FIFTH. 

The subject, said he, is too profound, — and other 
duties require my attention. But you will think on 
the tablet of mystery, and the image of creation im- 
pressed upon it: your own sacred books will teach you 
the rest,— read them, — and be wise. 



LECTURE THE SIXTH; 



ANCIENT RELIGION AND MODERN SCIENCE. 



Further illustration of the subject of the last lecture. — The development of the 
religious feelings necessary to unite mankind, before science could benefit 
them. — That man might know that creation was a divine act, the synopsis 
only of the event was declared. — To the earliest ages the theology of crea- 
tion, to modern times the science, is revealed. — Distinction of religion and 
science. — The evil of their admixture. — The twelve apostles of Christianity 
an instance of theology unmixed with science. — St. Peter. — In the mind of 
St. Paul philosophy and religion were united. — General conclusions attain- 
ed. — Facts in illustration. — The Iliad and Odyssey of Homer illustrative 
of the predominance of theology in early ages. — The Persians, as described 
by Herodotus Nations who have received a scientific bent despise the reli- 
gious simplicity of early ages. — The contempt of the Jews by the Romans 
an instance. — 111 consequences of reasoning from theology to science seen in 
the case of Galileo, and in the common belief of a universal deluge. — Worse 

effects result from reasoning from science to theology -Prospect of their 

limits being ascertained. 

I will read a passage from St. Augustine, connected 
with the subject of the last lecture, and which will 
serve to elucidate certain texts of sacred Scripture 
which I shall have occasion to produce at our present 
meeting; for as my theme is distinct from theology, 
and yet it is important that its sacred light should be 
shed upon the subject, as it were, to illuminate the 
canvas of history, and enhance its interest, I gladly 
avail myself of a passage which contains the explana- 
tion which I wanted, — and which you can bear in 
mind, and apply when necessary, without farther refer- 
ence to it on my part. Non sic loquitur angelis Deus, 



142 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

quomodo nos invicem loquimur vel ipsi angeli nobis. 
Dei quippe sublimior ante suum factum locutio ipsius 
sui facti est immutabilis ratio, quae non habet sonum 
strepentem atque transeuntem, sed vim sempiterne 
manentem et temporaliter operantem. Hac loquitur 
Deus angelis Sanctis, nobis autem aliter longe positis. 
Quando autem etiam nos aliquid tale locutionis inte- 
rioribus auribus capimus, angelis propinquamus : aut 
enim Veritas incommutabilis per seipsam ineffabiliter 
loquitur, rationalis creaturae mentibus, aut per mutabi- 
lem creaturam loquitur, sive spiritalibus imaginibus 
nostro spiritui, sive corporalibus vocibus corporis sen- 
sui. (De Civ. Dei, 1. 16. c. 6.) God speaks not so to 
the angels, as we speak to each other, or angels to us. 
For the speech of God, which produces the works of 
creation, is that immutable reason from which they 
flow and by which they are perfected, — not an eva- 
nescent voice merely, but a living energjr, reaching 
to the farthest extremities of nature, and the most 
distant ages. In this manner God speaks to his holy 
angels, but to them audibly, to us otherwise, on ac- 
count of our grosser apprehension. But when we per- 
ceive through our internal ears some faint notices of 
this divine speech, we approach the angels in our 
privileges: for it is indeed the unchangeable truth 
which speaks to the minds of the rational creation, to 
the faculties of the soul through images addressed to it, 
or to the body in whose organs of sense the soul 
watches and inclines to hear. 

I spoke in my last lecture of the spirit of the early 
ages, as pre-eminently religious, particularly in Asia; 
and this character still distinguishes the nations of that 
quarter of the globe. They have not passed yet far 
beyond the first stage of advancement ; they are over- 
whelmed and almost oppressed by the idea of God ; 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 143 

among them God is every thing, man nothing; and 
this spirit is carried into all the studies of the intellect ; 
among them natural history is lost in the splendor of 
the Deity; so deep and intense is the glory of the 
Creator shed upon his works, as to darken them even 
with an excess of effulgence ; they have no inclination 
to investigate what is called the natural process or 
natural law of the work, surrounded as it is with the 
mysterious halo of the glory of the Workman. This 
is a highly useful class of feelings, and — no doubt for 
great ends — were the earliest feelings developed in the 
human family ; they softened the heart, and made it a 
fit tablet to receive the just impressions of the laws of 
God, that character might be stamped on the earlier 
stage of human society never afterwards to be obli- 
terated, and to which the intelligence of after ages 
might gladly recur, to renew their fading impressions 
of divine power and goodness, as in the maturity of life 
we have recourse to the early impressions of our child- 
hood for the natural ideas of objects. But this is a 
stage in the history of nations which must necessarily 
be a temporary one ; for although it be a momentous 
truth, necessary to be often recalled, that we live in the 
presence of an omnipotent and all-seeing Creator, yet 
this consideration was not intended habitually to sub- 
due our faculties, and, as it were, to crush our natural 
energies ; but on the contrary, we know it to be a part 
of the beneficence of the Divine Being, to appear to 
withdraw himself occasionally, like a kind and indul- 
gent father, from the view of his children, in order 
that this overwhelming awe may be taken off our 
spirits, and we be left, as it were, to the playfulness 
of our own joyous and active minds. It certainly is 
not the intention of the Parent of the universe that 
those natural faculties which He has given us should 



144 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

be crushed under the sense of his presence, but rather 
that they should be directed to find their appropriate 
recreation and means of expansion in that profusion of 
material objects which are scattered around us. But 
it is not these natural and scientific faculties which are 
most energetically developed in the earlier stages of 
society, but, on the contrary, the religious affections of 
mankind, — so that the sense of the Creator is much 
more vivid and distinct than the knowledge of his 
works, — and from obvious reason, since religion must 
first bind mankind together in society before science 
can be expected to benefit them ; it is more important 
to acknowledge God than to understand nature, and 
faith is superior to philosophy. 

God said, let the dry land appear, — and it was so : 
inasmuch as it was indispensable that we should know 
that these blooming continents which adorn our globe 
rose at the will and bidding of an intelligent and bene- 
ficent Creator, therefore this communication is first 
made to mankind, and the synopsis of the event, with- 
out any respect to the time which it occupied in the 
accomplishment, is presented to the view, as a conve- 
nient tablet on which the important truth is inscribed, 
— that the continents of the inhabited earth have 
emerged from the ocean, not by any dark law of fate, 
not by any nature independent of God, but, really and 
truly, by the order and will of God, God said, — let 
the dry land appear, — and it was so. And it is this 
idea afterwards which sheds light and glory on the 
whole of creation, — we do not always think of it, we 
do not often interpret our own feelings on such occa- 
sions, or express our thoughts even to ourselves ; but it 
is this first truth which we received from revelation, — 
that, "in the beginning God created the heaven and 
the earth," — which clothes the mountains with that 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 145 

sublimity which we discover in them as they raise 
their heads to heaven, which invests the smiling land- 
scapes of our wide and far-spreading continent with 
the teints of loveliness and beauty; — what would all 
be, — the most perfect exhibition of nature, — unless 
recommended to our love and admiration by those 
ideas of God, — enlivened by that spirit which emanates 
from early revelation, when God said, let the earth 
bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit 
tree yielding fruit after its kind, whose seed is in itself 
upon the earth, and it was so : — it comes over us like the 
recollections of infancy, as reviving and as true : and 
these impressions were far more to them than physical 
truth is to us ; and indeed it is to these first impres- 
sions that physical truth now is indebted for the greater 
part of its attractions. And this observation brings at 
once the spirit of our own times before us. The 
theology of creation was revealed to the earliest ages, 
the science of creation is now beginning to be revealed 
to us; and these two points of time afford favorable 
positions from which to consider the natural history of 
man, and the rise and progress of his philosophy. It 
seems very improbable that the early nations reflected 
at all on the science of creation ; it was not the geology, 
but the theology of the subject, which interested them ; 
it was enough for them to know that the dry land ap- 
peared, stocked with innumerable tribes of living crea- 
tures, and covered with a superabundance of varied 
vegetation for their use and enjoyment, and to be 
informed that all this distinction and variety and har- 
mony of objects was the result of successive acts of 
creative Intelligence ; and they cared not what length 
of time each act may have required for its perfect 
manifestation ; it was sufficient for them to see that 
there was an order, and that God was the author of 

19 



146 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

this, as well as the creation itself. Hence they knew 
from that divine inspiration which pervaded their 
minds, that the world was created by God, and in six 
days, for so they expressed these distinct and succes- 
sive periods, and they inquired no farther into the sub- 
ject ; but they felt and perceived that there rested on 
the bosom of nature a calm and serene repose, — which 
forbade them to harbor the idea of haste or precipita- 
tion, confusion or disorder, in the different steps of the 
proceeding, — in the production of that magnificent 
whole, whose perfection they contemplated. But it 
was the mental and the religious and the divine, and 
not the temporal or the material or the geological, 
which appeared to their minds, and interested their 
affections ; hence there was produced in that stage of 
human society an order of pure and exalted truths 
which science never can improve, as she never could 
have discovered them ; — all she can do is to prepare 
the way for their reception. Science can discover no 
new truth in regard to the personal existence of God, 
or his unity, or his spiritual attributes; but she is 
limited to the investigation of his works. Science 
never could have found out the beautiful truth an- 
nounced to us in these simple words, " God said let the 
dry land appear, and it was so ;" — but science can now 
explore the work thus created, and whatever ideas 
space and time can unfold to her on this mighty 
theme, she can faithfully record, and very distinctly 
demonstrate ; but in vain might she attempt to impugn 
or protect a truth which transcends at once her means 
and her efforts. But yet it is to be confessed that it is 
this truth, made known through religion to the earliest 
ages, which confers the most delightful interest on 
modern science, particularly on that of geology. After 
having been informed that "God said, let the dry 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 147 

land appear, and it was so, we proceed with the most 
lively and cheerful anticipations to examine the physi- 
cal aspects of that magnificent work, thus announced 
to have been accomplished by Omnipotence. 

When we behold a full grown man in the perfection 
of vigor and health, — the splendor of reason and intel- 
ligence — and are informed, that " God created man in 
his own image, after his likeness," we are attracted 
with tenfold interest to the examination of the object 
which is placed before us, and the structure of his 
mind and body, and the successive developments of the 
parts and proportions of each. And with what delight 
do we then learn the particulars of his history, — that 
he existed at one time, in a condition very different 
from the present, until his formation, namely, was 
complete; when he was ushered into the world, with 
his organs and senses already adapted for a residence 
here; but that his limbs were still frail, until devel- 
oped and strengthened through their infantile play; 
and that then at last he rose on his feet and essayed 
to walk, which he accomplished at first with difficulty, 
and at length with ease; and that in the mean time, 
his soul expanded as his body grew; and that his 
intellectual and moral faculties, corresponding with his 
outward form, spread forth gradually and ripened into 
perfection, until at last he became both mentally and 
corporeally that noble being, which we first beheld, 
worthy to be considered the chef d' oeuvre of creation ; 
— but when science has explored the entire physical 
process of the work or its mental contours, and dis- 
covered what she terms the latvs of growth and devel- 
opment in body and in mind, has she disconcerted in 
the least, or at all interfered with, or contravened in 
any degree, that other truth before announced through 
revelation, namely, that God formed man of the dust 



148 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath 
of life ? — it remains firm and unshaken as on an immo- 
vable rock. The same observations apply, and with 
equal force, to the labors of modern geologists; they do 
not in the least affect those truths before announced in 
regard to the creation of the world, and for this simple 
reason, that they refer not to the workman, but to the 
physical characters of the work. This distinction now 
begins to be understood, and will be so more and more, 
as the truths of religion and the truths of science are 
seen to be of different orders, sometimes apparently 
blended, but never actually confounded. But religion 
is the elder-born, and takes precedence of science, and 
sheds her own warm light upon her, which science is 
sometimes fain to claim as her own ; herein she errs, 
for she has no inherent light but what is natural : — but 
I see them rise, and each in its own epoch, and its na- 
tive majesty ! Religion as the sun, — but risen indeed 
many ages ago — even at the birth of creation, and now, 
after having impressed its beams on every object, and 
hallowed each, inclined as it were, to sink in the west, 
— to leave the world for a space, — to be remembered 
rather than seen, for such is the estimation in which 
religion is now held ; — but lo ! there rises eastward 
another orb, reflecting a sober and borrowed light; — 
science has her just emblem in the moon, — and our 
modern ages, — so tender is our intellectual sight, — 
seem disposed to prefer this feebler radiance; and it 
may be well, or it may be necessary for a time ; but, 
at all events the two are now distinctly recognized, the 
one — as the sun setting in the west, with calm and un- 
troubled disk, after having run its course — primeval 
theology ; the other, just rising in the east, the moon of 
science, reflecting theology, and shedding a useful and 
grateful light on these benighted times. But such 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 149 

comparisons perhaps may perplex the subject; be it 
then simply told, that three thousand years ago or 
upwards, theology in the eastern world stood uncon- 
founded with science, and men heard from her, and 
were satisfied with the response ; that " in the begin- 
ning God created the heaven and the earth," — that 
"God said let there be light, and there was light," and 
they heard the number of the days of creation also, and 
were satisfied ;— and similarly, in our times, it may be 
affirmed, that science stands on her own ground, unoc- 
cupied by theology, and expounds facts, and establishes 
conclusions no longer fearing nor being feared; and 
men are now in regard to science what they wont to 
be in regard to religion, free and unembarrassed, — 
serving but one master. And this is the more worthy 
of observation, when we recollect the history of the 
intervening period, how science has been confounded 
with religion and religion with science, to the detri- 
ment and dishonor of both. "Tantoque magis haec 
vanitas inhibenda venit, et coercenda, quia ex divino- 
rum et humanorum malesana admistione, non solum 
educitur philosophia phantastica sed etiam religio 
haeretica. And the more necessary is it to restrain 
and repress this evil, as from the absurd mixture of 
human and divine things, there is engendered not on- 
ly a fanciful philosophy, but also an heretical religion." 
It is only when each pursues that order and series of 
truths, which are peculiar to each, that any mutual ben- 
efit can arise ; but when they encroach on each other's 
provinces, the most baleful effects ensue. I must remind 
you of an observation in a former lecture, that bounda- 
ries are sacred, and that Terminus was a God; to 
devolve on science the duties of religion, or on religion 
the duties of science, is to bind together the living and 
the dead; — the consequence would be deplorable. 



150 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

The province of each is extremely well marked, and 
cannot any longer be easily mistaken. Science takes 
a true and just copy of nature according to the rela- 
tions and order of the facts and phenomena, as they 
really exist; theology reads this copy with a view to 
illustrate and enforce the truths drawn from herself; 
science considers her task executed, when she has 
made a true record of all the appearances, and ascer- 
tained their laws and connections, undisturbed in her 
proceedings by any imagined ill results that might flow 
from the truth she brings to view, for she knows that 
"the whole of truth can never be injurious to the 
whole of virtue ;" theology on the other hand feels that 
her task begins where that of science ends; science 
reflects the true image of nature, but since that might 
lead the mind to idolatry, theology brings back upon 
that image the reflection of Deity ; or, in other words, 
science is the scribe, but theology the interpreter ; the 
one speaks to the understanding through the senses, 
the other to the mind through the reason; both are 
ministers of good, but each of its own ; they are not 
unfriendly to each other's interests, and pernicious only 
when confounded ; the first is the offspring of simpli- 
city, and innocence and rational intuition, subdued 
and meek and childlike, and wearing a garland of 
flowers plucked from the bowers of Paradise; the 
other is harsh-featured, yet cheerful and undisturbed, 
young in years, but of an invigorated form, and claim- 
ing to be the parent of the useful arts, and to derive 
her chief glory and distinction from the improvements 
of modern society. In the history and the progress of 
each, you can learn much of the natural history of 
man ; when you view both together, you see at once 
the infancy and the matured manhood of the human 
race. 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 151 

But let me deal no longer in general observations, 
but refer you to cases of illustration. As an instance 
of theology unmixed with science I refer you to the 
primitive apostles of Christianity, — the twelve; — it is 
unnecessary to say, that in this instance, religion stands 
unblemished by science: "the earth and the works that 
are therein" says St. Peter "shall be burned up" — 
"nevertheless we look for a new heaven and a new 
earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness," — this is an 
interesting theological truth, announced under the 
form of prophecy, but with what simplicity, what 
divine grandeur; — what then? did St. Peter know any 
thing, or care any thing about the scientific aspects of 
the subject ? he neither knew nor cared, we may well 
suppose, what series of physical events would mark 
and embody the same truth to after-ages ; he did not 
descend to these inquiries, his mind dwelt in a superior 
region, and uttered the truths which were native to it, 
although expressed in the language of space and time. 
But it will belong to modern geology to show what 
provision is made in the laws of nature for the degrada- 
tion of the present continents and for the rise of newer 
ones from the bed of the ocean ; and also to inquire 
whether there be not certain laws of nature, established 
by divine Providence I mean, according to which vitia- 
ted and debauched races of the human family become 
extinct, while newer and more vigorous races, disci- 
plined in the pure and renovating precepts of the 
Christian faith, take their place, and so it come to pass 
naturally, that the meek inherit the earth: — pure 
science, unmixed with theology and undeceived by 
any former speculations, will yet have to cast her safe 
light over all these particular questions; — and no 
doubt, judging from analogy, the degradation and 
obliteration of our modern continents will be as slow 



152 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

and imperceptible as their rise has been. But theology 
cannot explain this, far less any mixture of theology 
and science ; for the theology of the subject is already 
declared perfectly by Peter; the science is yet to come, 
but it must be unmixed and uncontaminated by theol- 
ogy. To know the absurdities, that have arisen and 
daily spring from the mixture of science and theology, 
you have merely to read some of the speculations of 
the Fathers in the third and fourth centuries, or to recall 
to mind the discourses which you have heard, when 
the creation of the world, the deluge, or the last confla- 
gration has been the theme ! 

That there should be antipodes, says St. Augustine, 
whose feet are opposed to ours, is altogether too absurd 
to be believed ; and he proceeds to show how it 
could not be, and among other reasons this is a prin- 
cipal one, that it were impossible they Could be 
descended from Adam and Eve, for how could they 
have contrived to cross that mighty sea, — but if not 
the descendants of Adam and Eve they could not be 
men, since this was the sole original family. This is a 
fair specimen of the absurdity and false prejudice 
which result from the mixture of religion and science, 
and from not having it firmly fixed in the mind from 
the first that the truths of theology belong to one order 
of ideas, the truths of science to another, and that the 
latter is beneath, the former from above ; for although 
angels have appeared in the form of men, it is not to 
be supposed that their bodies are material. 

Another specimen of the evil resulting from mixing 
science with religion, to the injury of both, may be 
seen in the argument for the amalgamation of the 
African and European races, on the ground of their 
being one family, both descended from Adam and 
Eve. Sobria mente quae fidei sunt dentur fidei. It 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 153 

belongs to science, and to the common instincts and 
feelings of mankind to say, whether there are not races 
of men so unlike in their temperaments as to prohibit, 
as nefarious and contrary to nature, the amalgamation 
of them. The identity and unity of the human family, 
imaged in Adam and Eve, is a religious, not a scientific 
truth, and any deductions made from it, to have any 
presumption of fairness, must be religious, not scienti- 
fic : thus, if from the unity of the human family, so 
acknowledged, it be argued that we owe to every race 
of mankind on the globe, the same obligations of justice 
and mercy which we owe to each other, the argument 
would be a good one, and no violation of right reason- 
ing, and would brand those horrid acts of injustice of 
which the white race have been guilty, both to the 
black and to the red ; but it may be safely affirmed, 
that had it not been for the debasement of the moral 
sense, the result of such injustice, the natural repug- 
nance to amalgamation among these races, particularly 
between the black and white, would have been such 
that it never could have taken place under any circum- 
stances. Pure religion would have disclaimed it; 
nature would have abhorred it. But men having first 
lost all sense of shame, in destroying the natural birth- 
right of freedom in a distinct branch of the human 
family, no wonder this second curse, — an unnatural 
confusion of races, — has followed on the back of the 
other, and that we should now be about to incur this 
sad penalty of the transgression of the natural laws of 
justice and humanity. The Copts, or modern Egyp- 
tians, are a race of Negroes and Caucassians, and hence 
their degradation. I note it as a remarkable fact in 
the history of man. 

The unity of the human family, then, is a religious 
rather than a physical truth, that is to say, we owe jus- 

20 



154 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

tice and mercy to all men, — all are our brethren ; but 
between certain races of mankind, nature has esta- 
blished limits which are not to be broken down but 
with the injury and destruction of both, and this not 
only science and experience, but even the inborn 
instincts of men themselves, sufficiently and loudly 
declare. 

A very useful book might be written on limits or 
natural landmarks ; but I must confine myself in this 
lecture to the limits of science and theology — to show 
how they are distinct, and what evils in practice and 
absurdities in theory, the natural history of man points 
out as having arisen from the confusion of them. 

How entirely theology was separate from science, in 
the minds of the first apostles of Christianity, is plain 
to be seen : had they been philosophers, had they been 
habituated to scientific investigations, although other- 
wise good men, they would not have been adequate for 
the mission on which they were employed. The 
Christian religion was not articulated into doctrines, 
but only spread on facts, until it had passed into 
Greece. The mind of Paul was the bridge along 
which the Christian religion passed from Asia into 
Europe, from a condition of facts into a condition of 
theories; the span of his gigantic mind took in both 
Asia and Europe, one pier of his mind sunk and 
rested in Asia, the other in Europe. The philoso- 
phy and science of Greece in him met with the 
religion and impressiveness of Asia ; since Christianity 
itself is the most important fact in the history of man, 
this peculiarity in the mind of the apostle of the Gen- 
tiles, is also deserving of attention. I have said that in 
the history of nations the religious faculties are first 
disclosed, and next the philosophical propensities begin 
to show themselves ; but there is a point of junction, 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 155 

an intervening position, an isthmus where both eras 
meet, that of philosophy and that of religion; this 
grand junction was in the mind of Paul ; philosophy 
and religion in him stood balanced, but flowed une- 
qually thence to all succeeding times, down to our 
own, during which religion has been sometimes in- 
juring science, and science sometimes corrupting reli- 
gion, until but very recently, when there are tokens 
that the provinces of each will be more distinctly 
marked off, and their respective boundaries more care- 
fully observed. Geology will contribute largely toward 
this restoration of ancient landmarks, for her facts are 
so stubborn that religion will be compelled at last to 
resign an office so foreign to her nature, and derogatory 
to her dignity, as that of a calculator of dates, and his- 
toriographer of physical events, and to resume those 
employments so much more congenial with her spirit, 
and becoming her pure character, and indeed of infi- 
nitely more worth to mankind, I mean the imparting 
of spiritual instruction and consolation to the human 
mind. 

But the general views and reasonings advanced in this 
and the preceding lecture, I find it necessary to support 
on a more firm basis of facts than I have yet adduced. 
You will remark, then, the general propositions: they are 
these, — first, that the mind of primeval nations is opened 
chiefly, or nearly altogether, to theological or religious 
impressions ; secondly, that the mind of nations more 
advanced in civilization is chiefly alive to the scien- 
tific or physical aspects of nature ; thirdly, that there 
is also a period in society, when philosophy and reli- 
gion attempt to cement an alliance, and that epoch is 
for the most part distinguished both by an imperfect 
and ill-concocted science, and at the same time by a 
false and heretical theology ; fourthly, I do not hesi- 



156 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

tate to declare it as my own faith on this subject, (of 
course you are at liberty to impugn and sift it to the 
bottom,) that the provinces of religion and science are 
separate and distinct, and therefore I adopt it as the 
watchword of my philosophy and theology, " render 
unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto 
God the things which are God's." Theology and 
science seem to me like two currents in the atmos- 
phere, an upper and a lower, the one moving east- 
wardly, the other westwardly; — and although they 
seem sometimes as if they would cross each other's 
path and occasion a tremendous commotion, yet for the 
most part it is found that they do not interfere ; or if 
they ever do, it is only when the one descends too low, 
or the other mounts too high, when theology becomes 
scientific, or science, wiiich is not seldom, aspires to be 
theological. They are two distinct orders of truth, 
no otherwise connected than that the facts of the one 
can be made to represent the ideas of the other, accord- 
ing to certain fixed laws of analogy, and that they are 
designed, each through the same beneficent Provi- 
dence, to benefit and improve the human race ; the one 
by administering to the soul and its heavenly faculties, 
and the other to the mind and to the body, in their 
combined energies. It is true that religion, in touch- 
ing the soul, affects the whole man, mind and body ; — 
language and definition are always inadequate to 
express fully these beautiful and divine arrangements ; 
but you see sufficiently well, I hope, the general dis- 
tinction : but now for the facts to establish these pro- 
positions. For the first, then, namely, that theology is 
the predominant and all-pervading influence in rude 
ages, I refer you to the whole Iliad and the whole 
Odyssey of Homer. Every idea, and tone, and impres- 
sion, in these noble works, is theological. Nothing is 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 157 

there allowed to happen according to any natural law, 
(as we term it,) all is the doing or the suggestion of 
some divinity, in heaven, earth, or sea, in the battle and 
in the camp, in the solitary musings of Ulysses, with 
Minerva at his side, or in his resolute deeds of revenge 
against his enemies, and his conflicts with adverse for- 
tune in every form. It is unnecessary to quote a single 
line in proof, when the whole poem breathes nothing 
else. But in perusing this noble poem, the most 
delightful reflection, after all, is this, that the whole is 
true, (a reflection, perhaps, that seldom occurs to most 
readers,) the whole of the Odyssey is true, but only 
theologically so, and in a peculiar sense ; and although 
all the occurrences there related might he shown, in 
this prosing age, to have taken place according to 
what are called natural laws, that would not contra- 
dict or annul the impressions of Homer; — his lofty 
and daring mind soared triumphantly in that upper 
current of the atmosphere, and might see the clouds 
and mists of natural causes rolling in a contrary direc- 
tion beneath his feet, — he might see them, but he did 
not regard them ; for neither his age, nor his mind, 
nor his lively and inspired countrymen, had yet any 
appreciation of the hues of light and beauty that 
beam on us from these floating mists of natural 
sciences and natural reasons, which to them passed 
unregarded as things much too puerile and earth-horn 
to attract a moment's attention. Neptune, the god of 
the sea, shook the earth with his trident, and terror and 
alarm seized the souls of mortal men when they felt 
the presence of divine power ; and the description of 
the effects filled their imaginations with the most 
sublime sentiments ; — in such a state of mind, how 
could they value our inquiries into the causes of sub- 
terranean heat, — the laws of the expansion of fluids 



158 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

and gases, — and the whole series of physical results 
ascertained or conjectured, — in the production of such 
phenomena? But when they felt that these effects 
took place from the exertions of divine power, and 
seemed almost to see the God amid these awful con- 
vulsions of nature, they had an appreciation of a cer- 
tain order of truth at all events ; and on the whole we 
may say this of it, that their theology in regard to the 
subject was not more imperfect than our science now 
is ; — we know as little about the physical antecedents 
of earthquakes, as they did in regard to their efficient 
spiritual causes. They clearly saw that these origina- 
ted, in some sense, from the will and permission and 
providence of divine power ; and we are no less cer- 
tain that the generation of gases is at least among the 
phenomena which precede or accompany these appal- 
ling occurrences ; — our current of physical truth is 
about as well defined as was the tenor of their theolo- 
gical speculations ; — and there is indeed no conflict 
between them, nor mutual interference, the aim of 
each being different, that of the one to find the divine 
agent, that of the other to ascertain and describe the 
physical mode of operation. And science certainly is 
more accessible to the senses and the natural under- 
standing, but theology not less so to the soul and its 
rational faculties. 

The manners which Homer describes are those of 
a very remote age. Take the example of a people 
nearer to modern times, the Persians, when visited by 
Herodotus, about four hundred years before the Chris- 
tian era. The passage which I translate will corrobo- 
rate all I have said in regard to the religious impres- 
sions received from the universe in the ruder ages of 
society, impressions which include truths of a much 
higher order than any which science unaided can un- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 159 

fold to her admirers in the more advanced periods of 
civilization. " I have known the Persians to observe 
these customs : they are not permitted by their laws 
to have erected among them either statues or temples 
or altars, and they brand with folly the people which 
do such things, and it seems to me the reason is, that 
they do not, like the Greeks, imagine the gods to be 
possessed of human passions and affections ; no, but on 
the contrary, the laws enjoin it upon them to ascend on 
their loftiest mountains, and there to offer sacrifices to 
Jupiter, and that expanse of the naked heaven which 
they behold they call by the name of Jupiter; but 
other acts of worship also they perform to the sun, and 
the moon, and the earth, and the water, and to such 
only, in their original ritual ; but other observances 
also they have recently introduced from the surround- 
ing nations." (Lib. 1. c. 131.) He then describes, as 
an eye-witness, their mode of sacrifice ; it was ex- 
tremely simple, performed on " a pure spot of ground," 
without fire, libations, cakes, garlands or music, and he 
who offered it wore on his head simply a crown of 
myrtle, and, observes the father of history, when he 
utters a prayer on the occasion he is not allowed to 
supplicate good for himself in particular, but for all the 
Persians, and the king, he himself being included 
among his countrymen. Persia was on the confines of 
the ancient land of Judea, or that territory of the globe 
whence has emanated the light of an infallible revela- 
tion ; — and it is interesting to find in the scattered and 
brief notices of earlier religion, which you meet with 
in ancient authors, the ideas become more sublime 
and pure and elevated above the region of science and 
art, as they originate from the countries bordering on or 
near to, that felicitous and consecrated spot of earth, — or 
approximating that era, when divine revelations were 



160 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

rife, and true as rife. It is certainly a remarkable fact, 
that religion is always the loftier and purer in the 
proportion that it is not commingled with art, but is 
read as it is written, fresh, on those natural emblems 
which seem its only just and appropriate expres- 
sions; — and also this farther suggestion arises in our 
minds, when we read such passages as this one from 
Herodotus, that when natural objects begin to be con- 
templated under the speculative and useful light of 
science they cease to represent to the mind, so readily 
as they did before, that pure and original theosophy of 
which they are the divine and instituted types, — that 
resplendent and glorious undecaying page of nature, 
on which the eyes of ten thousand thousand genera- 
tions have been successively fixed in the respective 
periods of their earthly sojourn to receive wisdom ; 
and yet the book is still as fresh and new as when it 
was first unfolded to the view of mankind. But when 
scientific inquiries reach to every object within the 
domain of the senses, and beyond it, a less enchant- 
ing, but perhaps a more useful, view begins to take 
the place of the earlier impressions and sentiments of 
the first inhabitants of the globe. Nations which have 
made but little proficiency in science and the arts of 
civilization, but enough to make them vain, entertain 
great contempt for the rudeness of primitive nations, 
and their absurd interpretations of natural occurren- 
ces ; and certainly they were absurd, if viewed in the 
light of physical explanations, but not such when con- 
sidered as the rude expressions of religion, — on the 
contrary, oftentimes replete with the most beautiful 
and impressive truth. The Romans, in the age of 
Tacitus (A. D. 100.) had dipped into the penumbra of 
science ; and you can readily account for the contempt 
in which he held the Jews, and which appears in his 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 161 

account of them : and they were certainly contempti- 
ble, as regarded all that was estimable in the eyes of 
the Romans; — and neither nation was at this time 
capable of estimating those divine and immaculate 
truths which had poured like a stream in earlier ages 
over the minds of their shepherd kings, and their 
humble and enraptured prophets. The sealed vision 
of science was unable to discover the smallest twink- 
lings of that supernal light which begins at last to be 
recognized, — and a better age is on its way. But hear 
what Tacitus says of the Jews, more than seventeen 
centuries ago : " The Egyptians venerate the images of 
animals. The Jews worship one Deity only, and that 
too with a veneration purely mental; and they hold 
those to be profane, who, out of the materials of human 
workmanship, construct images of gods, in the likeness 
of men; believing the Supreme Intelligence to be 
eternal, subject neither to mutation nor decay, on 
which account they will not suffer statues to be 
erected even in their cities, much less in their tem- 
ples." In this manner Tacitus correctly speaks of 
their worship, while at the same time he represents the 
nation itself as exceedingly depraved, and addicted to 
the most degrading vices : he appears also to have been 
very incorrectly informed in regard to the origin of the 
people, or their customs. It is perhaps little to be 
wondered at, considering how low the character of the 
Jews at this time was, that their manners and rites 
should have appeared disgusting to a mind of that stern 
and philosophical cast which belonged to Tacitus ;— - 
but yet it is questionable if, even under the best aspects 
of the national character, he would have found much to 
admire or to attract his attention : and here it is, that 
we have to remark a singular fact in the history of the 
human mind, that not unfrequently the most wonder- 

21 



162 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

ful developments of religion, in one age or nation, 
bearing the clear impress of revelation, find hardly any 
favor or regard from another age or nation which hap- 
pens to have received a different bent, — to be attracted 
by science rather than religion. It has been said that 
ghosts and beings of flesh and blood do not recognize 
each other, even when in actual contact, and that they 
may cross each other's path unobserved and unobser- 
ving ; — it is even so in regard to science and theo- 
logy ; — they are totally unknown to each other, and 
therefore mutually despised, often when in the closest 
neighborhood. The Greeks and Romans knew not 
the Jews, nor the Jews them ; they heartily despised 
each other, — at least within the period of ascertained 
history, after the Greeks and Romans had become im- 
bued with philosophy. The mystical displays of the 
attributes of the infinite revealed One, which had been 
sources of unalloyed delight to the earlier inhabitants 
of the mountainous regions of Palestine, were unmean- 
ing fooleries, or incomprehensible jargon to the excited, 
strong, imperial mind of Rome, or the subtle, ingeni- 
ous, hair-splitting philosophy of Greece ; on the con- 
trary the Asiatics could see nothing either attractive or 
rational in the genius or institutions of either of those 
people. But why need we seek at such a distance 
instances of this antipathy or insensibility of mutual 
merits in theosophy and science ? In modern days, we 
often find the religionist boasting of his ignorance of 
all scientific acquisitions, and on the other hand your 
philosopher treating with utter contempt all kinds of 
truth which is not either mathematical or derived from 
natural facts ; and it is difficult to say which in such 
cases shows the greatest degree of folly, the exclusive 
religionist, or the exclusive sciolist; it is certain that 
both dishonor and disparage sadly that beneficial 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 163 

arrangement, and order of ends, which has been pro- 
vided by the Creator for the well-being of the human 
race, through which we are endowed at once with a 
mortal and immortal life ; and although the last be the 
more excellent, yet even the first is indispensable to the 
last: science, or the knowledge of nature belongs to 
the first, theosophy, or the knowledge of God, belongs 
to the last. 

I have now shown from the example of the earliest 
Greeks in Homer, of the ancient Persians in Herodotus, 
of the ancient inhabitants of Palestine in the instance 
of our pure and sacred Scriptures, that theosophy is the 
predominant habit of the mind in the first ages, and 
among the ruder nations. I could gather illustrations 
from numerous other quarters, as the ancient Germans, 
the aboriginal Britons, and the children of nature of 
this continent ; but this would be tedious. 

In support of the position, that in these times in which 
we live, science is in the ascendant, it is unnecessary 
to bring evidence. It is universally acknowledged. 

Of the ill consequences both to science and theology, 
which have resulted from the attempt to reason from 
the one to the other, we have seen numerous instances 
since the reformation. The mischief of reasoning 
from theology to science, is seen in the attempt that 
was made in the time of Galileo to make the earth 
stand still, and the sun to move round it, because the- 
ology said that it was agreeable to the wording of her 
creed that it should be so ; forgetting at the same time 
that it was not a creed of science that had been written 
for theology, but a creed of a different character; — and 
in her creed, touching such matters, theology can aver 
but this, that all those appearances which are beneficial 
to human kind, are according to the ordination of God ; 
and although science may afterwards discover that such 



164 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

appearances are the natural results of other series of 
facts, than were at first apprehended, they are not 
surely the less in accordance with the divine intelli- 
gence on that account, or the less worthy of our admi- 
ration. The theological truth is the same still, 
however the scientific adjustments of the fact may 
be shifted and re-shifted. In whatever direction a 
gift of kindness and solid good may have come to me 
from my best friend, provided it has reached me at 
last, and I am sure it is from him, it will signify 
nothing, in regard to the tenor of my affection for him, 
in how many different ways it may have traveled ; and 
even if his voice may have reached me through an 
echo, it is still his voice. It belongs to science to trace 
out curiously all these winding natural channels, and 
when it has ascertained them, to call them laws; but 
it belongs to theology, and that alone, to make known 
the will and attributes of that hidden personal intelli- 
gence, which employs these communications. And 
science indeed, may clear a wider space over which 
the light may be diffused, but can neither point to its 
source, nor add to its brilliancy. The sun shone as 
brightly over this western world before the white man 
had cleared a single spot for his dwelling or his suste- 
nance, as it has ever since done. — Another instance, 
where theology has reasoned into science, to the im- 
pediment of science, and the obscuration of herself, is 
in reference to the action of a universal deluge on our 
globe. The flood of Noah is to be regarded as a theo- 
logical, rather than a physical fact, and under this view, 
as the most absolute and essential truth, but what 
then ? the theologian has no more business to dictate to 
the geologist, what he must believe in regard to the 
action of water on the globe, or how he shall square his 
speculations on that subject, than the geologist himself 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 165 

would be entitled from his science, to tell the theolo- 
gian what divine and moral truths, addressed to the 
consciences of mankind, he ought to discover in the 
bible; and that if he have promulgated any which 
ought not to be there, being contrary to certain theo- 
logical principles deduced from geology, he must recall 
them, on pain of being accounted a heretic, and branded 
as such by all genuine admirers of geology. 

These are instances of reasoning, or leaping from 
theology to science, as if they were one, — on the same 
champaign of philosophy ; — still worse is it, when the 
action is reversed, and you reason from science to the- 
ology. The shipwrecks of faith and reason, sustained 
in this unnatural retrograde movement of the human 
mind, are lamentable even to think on, and more rife 
since the reformation than ever before ; — it is a painful 
chapter of the history of man, and I would fain omit it, 
but nevertheless you cannot but see, how men — carry- 
ing the facts they have discovered in natural history to 
the interpretation of the sacred Scriptures, and not 
finding the facts there (as they view them,) to quad- 
rate with those they bring — forthwith dismiss as 
fabulous, what they conceive inconsistent, not know- 
ing or understanding, that natural facts are not there 
the things specially revealed, but are merely taken as 
they seemed to be, but that the divine impressions 
thereon left, and legible to every careful mind, are the 
things that are truly and essentially revealed. But this 
is a subject 1 dare not enter on, lest it should lead 
me astray, for I am not a theologian here, but an his- 
torian, remarking the different phases of the human 
mind, in ages far remote and dissimilar. 

If then, you would see two opposite epochs, and men 
the most unlike, bring twelve, from the centre of Asia, 
from the sea of Galilee — unlettered fishermen — there 



166 LECTURE THE SIXTH. 

found eighteen hundred years ago, and twelve from 
the centre of Massachusetts, — now, — and these the 
most bookish, of a people the most devoted to books ; — 
and let the twelve meet the twelve ; — would they un- 
derstand each other's speech ? I wot not ; — but there 
you listen to the simple, the primitive, the good, the 
divine theology of Asia, uttered from the lips of fisher- 
men, — infants almost, — telling so sinlessly all they had 
heard and seen, — the natural impressions which had 
been made on their confiding, yielding minds, — it was 
the hand of God upon their soul, and the form was still 
there fresh and entire ; they loved it too much to dis- 
turb or interfere with it ; — you heard, you saw, just as 
they had heard and seen, — it was not obliterated, it 
was not shifted in the least : — but how is it met here in 
the twelve I have supposed ? They too hear and see, but 
it is no longer what the first twelve either heard or 
saw, — the whole truth, and nothing but truth ; but it 
is now broken into fragments, and reason usurps the 
place of sacred faith, and science is at her back, and 
questions and doubts, and doubts and questions suc- 
ceed, — quick and pert and strong, — until at last the 
twelve apostles are ready to abandon the land of the 
pilgrim, bewailing that books and science, once useful, 
but now abused, are usurping or have usurped, the 
room of the discreet and modest affections,— simple and 
unblemished belief, — about to consign the human soul 
(if Providence prevent not) to all the wretchedness of its 
own wisdom, — the poverty of its own imagined wealth. 
But there are manifest tokens of the approach of a 
better age, an age which will unite the perfections of 
both religion and science, ascertain their spheres of 
action, and know their periods of vicissitude ; for God 
made these two great lights, and that greater light to 
rule the day, this lesser light to rule the night. 



LECTURE THE SEVENTH; 



ORIGIN AND PERPETUATION OF NATURAL RACES 
OF MANKIND. 



That as the present aspect of external nature has been produced by infinitely 
slow progressions, so it may be inferred that the advancement of the human 
race will be similarly effected. — Difficulties in tracing the limits of natural 
races. — The supposition that they have arisen out of local circumstances, or 
sprung from distinct progenitors, absurd. — Presentation of a theory that the 
human family were originally derived from a single pair, possessing an 
innate tendency to give rise to several distinct origins of races. — Illustra- 
tions. — Concerning the origin of man, science or experience can afford no 
information. — Theology only teaches the fact of his creation. — Distinction of 
the orders of creation into primitive and subordinate; or the origination of 
species, and the generation of individuals from these, each distinguished by 
laws and phenomena peculiar to itself. — Of the primeval moral condition of 
the race we are informed tbrough revelation. — Comparatively recent origin 
of the present race; of its different families, the Caucassian only has exhi- 
bited its proper development. — The existence of distinct natural families 
undeniable ; but the influences which produced them science cannot deter- 
mine. — Probable features of the African civilization. — Character not formed 
by climate or local circumstances. — Positions assigned to the different fami- 
lies of mankind best adapted for their peculiar developments, and this of 
divine providence. — Traits of the Caucassian and African. — Summary and 
review. — C onclusion. 

The physical revolutions of the globe are not more 
remarkable and varied than the moral have been ; but 
it is but a speck of either we behold. We make our- 
selves the measure of the universe; and within the 
contracted span of our own life, or our own written 
history, we endeavor to crowd the images of the magni- 



168 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

tude and extent of the works of God, — truly a narrow 
and confined mirror in which to behold the just rela- 
tions of things. But as miniature paintings of a vast 
natural landscape may be exhibited in reflection from a 
very small compass of glass or other polished substance, 
so in the actions of human life, or the wider extent of 
national history, we may behold represented to us 
some obscure and well-proportioned ideas of the gran- 
der operations of Providence ; — we may discover 
something of the plan and other characters which 
belong to it; but still when we make that part the 
whole, or the visible proportions, the actual spaces of 
time and place, we must be involved in grievous and 
melancholy error. We speak of the order by which 
the ways of Providence are characterized, and justly; 
but yet what a mass of apparently disjointed events 
and materials do we behold, in which we can trace no 
symptom of order ; — what heaps of the ruins of a for- 
mer world are piled up to form the substratum and 
surface of these continents we inhabit ; how our imagi- 
nations toil to trace the infinitely slow progress of all 
that chain of occurrences and physical events which at 
last have terminated in these appearances so familiar to 
our eyes, and which our fancies, taking human history 
as the guage of time, might conceive to have been of 
rapid formation what yet must have been the work 
of a series of ages, which our imaginations refuse to 
count. A thousand years are as one day, and one day 
as a thousand years, in the masonry and stupendous 
building of illustrious nature ;— no wonder a confusion 
meets us in appearance, when the work is so much 
beyond the grasp of our ordinary conceptions ; — and 
yet perhaps — no doubt, rather we may say, every storm 
that devastates a country, every flood or swelling of 
waters that sweeps our frail works, and the ruins of 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 169 

embanked rivers with all their load of vegetation and 
fruitful soil to the ocean — is but some slight vestige of 
that great design prosecuted perhaps for millions of 
years, by which it is intended that a new earth shall 
arise out of the wrecks and spoils of this fair continent 
which we now inhabit. But with a new earth must 
arise a new heaven ; and it would be easy to demon- 
strate, or rather you can see it at a glance, that with the 
change of the present position or surface of the land on 
the globe, the entire climate or atmospherical condition 
of the whole earth would be remodified and changed. 
And in fact we live every instant, if we knew it, in the 
midst of awful revolutions, and every act of apparent 
destruction or disorder in our view is, on a more exten- 
ded range of contemplation, taking in an immeasurable 
lapse of ages, the most perfect order, and wisdom, and 
perfection. In like manner, every symptom of appa- 
rent disorder in the animated kingdom also, not less 
than on the physical surface of the globe, would vanish, 
could we but take in a wider space of time into our 
calculation : but in regard even to the probable desti- 
nies of nations and tribes of men, we are in like man- 
ner thrown into doubt or sad anticipation, from not 
reflecting that, as respects the history of our race, 
hardly even the first hour of morn has yet passed over 
our heads ; and yet we quarrel with the disposition of 
human destinies, because we still see numerous nations 
or even whole races of mankind sunk in what we 
esteem hopeless ignorance and barbarity, and but one 
race alone, the white race, apparently advanced on the 
career of early civilization. We forthwith dream of 
partiality, and, judging of the future by the past, we 
lament that law of stern necessity which in our imagi- 
nations chains several races in the constant and unva- 
rying monotony of ignorance and savage simplicity. 

22 



170 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

But did we only cast our eye over the globe, mark 
how different and distinct is the genius that distin- 
guishes each settled people, and read the differing hues 
of all their countenances, and the peculiar casts of all 
their features, the unequivocal declarations of distinct 
mental, and intellectual, and affectuous temperaments, 
we would see reason to hesitate as to the admission of 
favoritism or partiality, because all were not advancing 
abreast in their career of moral or intellectual progress. 
There is undoubtedly a time and a period of succes- 
sion marked out for each natural race of men on the 
globe ; — the torch of improvement and advancing illu- 
mination is unquestionably destined to pass from hand 
to hand ; but we see not yet the order ; — and conjecture 
alone and probability can take the auspices in such 
enterprises and expeditions of inquiry as these. But 
neither are those investigations alone useful, wherein 
absolute certainty may be attained ; but in pursuing 
the natural history of man I have thought it might be 
sometimes instructive to turn our steps on the regions 
of darkness, as well as on the borders of light, since it is 
no less profitable to understand of how many things, — 
and those most wonderful too, — we are ignorant, than 
it is to ascertain how much we know. For wisdom 
does not lie so much in knowledge as in a sense of our 
deficiency ; and he who has never raised his eyes over 
the extent of an interminable ocean, bounded only by 
an unlimited sky, might imagine the pool or artificial 
pond at his door the biggest extent of water on the 
globe. And I open an interminable subject when I 
bring under your view the various natural races or 
families of men, — a subject on which I must confess I 
am myself lost ; for notwithstanding all I have read, or 
heard, or seen, in regard to it, I can hardly determine 
for myself, far less make it clear to you, where this 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 171 

begins or that other ends. It seems however a fact 
that cannot be denied, that there are original races of 
men, the lines between which are distinctly drawn by 
nature herself ; and I have only to mention to you the 
Indian, the African, the European, to call up the indel- 
lible impressions of distinct natural forms which are 
engraved on your own memories. Were I to attempt 
distinctly to delineate these in words I should but con- 
fuse the picture in your minds, and the images in my 
own : it is perhaps the best natural proof that can be 
given, that there are originally distinct races, that we 
cannot artificially or to our own satisfaction precisely 
trace out the lines that separate them. Nature's works 
are too fine and delicately touched to be correctly 
given by art ; all that we can do is to note a few par- 
ticulars ; but where distinctions are accidental, or have 
arisen in art, or social institutions, such definitions or 
descriptions can more readily be made. But the most 
wonderful circumstance that here attracts our atten- 
tion is the different and distinct portions of the globe 
which have been assigned to these natural races ; we 
can only point to the fact, we cannot explain it; to 
say that all mankind originally perfectly resembled 
each other, and that the several natural varieties which 
now exist have arisen out of local circumstances, — the 
action of external causes, — is to adopt a gratuitous 
explanation which cannot be shown to have any foun- 
dation in fact : on the other hand, to say that the dif- 
ferent races have sprung out of separate original pairs 
of human beings, that were created purposely to be 
the distinct progenitors of these several races, is equally 
absurd and unsupported : for in the first place, although 
we see it to be a law that children take on a general 
likeness of their parents, yet at the same time that 
likeness is never so perfect as not to admit of consider- 



172 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

able deviation from the parental model ; and we are 
totally unable to determine how far that deviation may 
extend, or what incongruities may in the progress of 
generations spring up, and under what kind of influ- 
ences. It would be endless to recount the numerous 
theories which have been broached upon this subject, 
and since one theory is about as good as another, where 
none is founded on firm facts, a new theory might also 
be propounded here, or rather a new view of the facts. 
And it might be easy then to imagine, (which we also 
believe to be the fact,) that the whole human family is 
actually sprung from a single pair, but that this single 
pair possessed within them the innate tendency to give 
rise, in the progress of generations, to several distinct 
origins of races, in the children which were born of 
them, which afterwards separating, not under the 
auspices of chance, but the better influences of that 
benign power under whose sway chance has no allot- 
ment, were led, each to distinct quarters of the earth, 
there to lay the foundations of nations, which, at first 
apparently unequal in their fortunes, are yet designed 
to discover equally grand, although different energies 
of good, reflected on them from the attributes of the 
Creator. How unlike, often, are the. children of one 
pair ; and slumbering faculties that once were awake 
in early progenitors will be latent in several genera- 
tions, and again, as it were, suddenly and unexpectedly 
burst forth in some remote descendant ; and the very 
mind and form perhaps will re-appear in the family 
after five or six generations : — this fact is ascertained 
where portraits of families have been preserved : — ■ 
where in the mean time were the latent genius, the 
latent form ; — do we know any thing of the laws ac- 
cording to which all this takes place ;— and whence, 
then, the unreserved, the bold assertion of Voltaire and 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 173 

others, that the different races of mankind could not 
have sprung from a single pair ; — what do we know, 
what could he know, of that single pair; — what was 
that single pair? Has science told us, can it tell us? We 
know nothing of it but from theology, and the truths of 
theology are not to be degraded to the level of science. 
The Adam and Eve of our sacred Scriptures are charac- 
ters too sacred, representing truths too momentous to 
be made the play-things of a philosophical discussion ; 
they were not intended evidently, as there spoken of, 
to be regarded merely as personages of history ; — when 
I speak therefore of a first pair, I shall imagine a first 
pair ; and what, I would ask, can we know of those 
endowments, physical and mental, with which they 
were invested ? Is it to be held an impossible supposi- 
tion, that the Creator may have so moulded them as to 
have contained within them the types of all the fami- 
lies of the earth ? If the type of the form and genius of 
a distinguished individual of a family can be latent in 
several generations and again re-appear with its original 
brilliancy, as it did in the first that wore it, could we 
wonder that the Creator may have conferred upon the 
mind and form of the first pair, the singular endow- 
ment of being able to be the cause and the natural 
stock, whence should spring several distinct and ever 
afterwards separated races, which were to take their 
several stations on this beauteous globe, their adorned 
dwelling-place, — which through a long series of pro- 
tracted epochs had been preparing and was at length 
prepared to be for them an appropriate habitation. 
But the places assigned them, under the unseen gui- 
dance of this divine voice and hand, were exactly such 
as were most suitable to that peculiar genius and tem- 
perament which was infixed in their forms. But man, 
of all living beings, is the most versatile and the least 



174 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

fixed in his ways and his genius ; he is not made per- 
fect, but intended to be perfected by the influence of 
the arts and education, which he is himself to evolve. 
And hence, in part also, may arise the versatility even 
of his outward form, the natural image of his disposi- 
tion. Man is not perfect, but is to be made such ; the 
animals are perfect, their forms are more fixed ; man's 
form varies and may continue to vary, it is more soft 
and malleable ; as the mind and soul receive new im- 
pressions of religion, of liberty and real improvement, 
may not the body also assume and transmit to posterity 
greater beauty and perfection of form ! This may 
account, although not for those grand and graphic 
distinctions of races, as between the Africans and 
Europeans, yet for those minor differences which 
appear among Europeans and Africans themselves. 
Do we not perceive before our eyes the confined and 
as it were crushed forms of the lower Germans, as 
compared with the native Americans, not in adults 
only, but even in children ; whence is this ? is there 
not something in the native air of true freedom to alter 
and expand even the form ? Whence is it then that the 
American child, after two or three generations from 
Germany, raises his head higher on his shoulders, and 
that the nose, lips, eyes, ears, in short, all the features 
appear more distinctly to take their places, and keep 
more out of each other's way than they do in the Ger- 
man physiognomy, where all seem huddled together in 
confusion and indistinctness, — correctly representing 
that very mist and disorder which still broods over 
his faculties, ere the genius of American liberty has 
said to his benighted soul, " let there be light." That 
this is not all fancy, I am certain ; I do not ascribe, 
however, these transformations to climate or circum- 
stance, but to that spirit of mental light and intelli- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 175 

gence which now meets him, — in short, to the politi- 
cal and moral atmosphere, rather than the physical, 
although no doubt there is a certain harmony between 
the two ; for we cannot believe it to have been a mat- 
ter of pure accident, that this land in particular in 
which we live has been set apart and devoted to free- 
dom ; it was not the pilotage, it was not the loadstar 
of chance, but the attraction of a far different and 
more benign power that directed Columbus and the 
Spanish mariners to the south, and Sebastian Cabot 
with the English and other nations to the north of this 
new continent. In the conformation and establish- 
ment of nations of peculiar genius in this hemisphere, 
we see beautiful and interesting examples of those 
natural and providential processes, according to which 
consociations of mankind take place, to which instance 
I shall have occasion often to refer. Instead, therefore, 
of considering the physical condition of a country, as 
determining its moral, it is perhaps better to regard 
the moral, to a certain extent, as moulding and modi- 
fying the physical state of man, that is to say, to 
regard that peculiar American type of body, towards 
which we can perceive all foreigners in the lapse of 
generations tending, as growing more from the political 
and moral and free state of the nation, than its climate 
or other outward circumstances, or (and this view 
may be considered preferable) to regard it as provi- 
dential and the appointment of nature, that the physi- 
cal should correspond with the moral, and the moral 
with the physical; and that those habits, formed in 
freedom and fixed in the happy choice of the indivi- 
dual, should be transmitted to the offspring, and form 
for themselves therein a more beautiful and graceful 
corporeal residence. Or, since the whole is conjecture, 
although the facts are indisputable, let us even take 



176 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

this additional view of the subject : as it is a known fact 
that the mind and shape of ancestors constantly re-ap- 
pear at intervals in the line of their descendants, being 
that inalienable stamp of nature which never can be 
abolished ; so, that genius and form which promises to 
be the mental and corporeal type of the American, for a 
series of ages, may have been slumbering, latent in the 
progenitors of those who have crossed the waters, and 
been the genuine cause which led them hither, and 
the reason why at last this noble countenance and free 
bearing mark them all, — or would mark them all, 
did not avarice and other selfish passions sometimes 
defeat the ends of nature, and of those social institu- 
tions which imitate her example and second her bene- 
volence. But we need not stop here, for having now 
happily struck on a right vein of reasoning and analo- 
gies, we may even imagine that a still nobler form and 
genius is latent in the best and noblest that has ever 
yet appeared ; and that it is among the possibilities of 
human improvement, that touched by a vital ray from 
heaven, — even the warm contact of true and heaven- 
born freedom, which is still better than the Jimeri- 
can, — the human mind and body may yet expand into 
a fulness of beauty and perfection such as none since 
the state of Eden has beheld, although in virtue of that 
image and likeness originally imprinted, the possibility, 
I may say the capacity, of reaching this perfection has 
never been lost, but retained from Adam downwards. 
Still those changes and transformations of soul and 
body cannot justly be regarded as calculated to break 
down those great and original barriers which separate 
the natural races of mankind, and which become only 
the more visible and distinct in the progress of im- 
provement. The transformations, moral and physical, 
of which I speak, are such as may be expected to arise 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 177 

in the same race according to their genius and tempera- 
ment, and as indications of advancement or retrogres- 
sion in respect to the general ends of their creation. 
But a difficulty will occur here in regard to these 
changes; they may be supposed to affect merely the 
individual himself, but to be incapable of being trans- 
mitted to his posterity. It might be perhaps sufficient 
to meet that objection merely to state the well-known 
fact, that dispositions and propensities, and conse- 
quently all habits that have acquired the force of these, 
are actually (transmitted to descendants. But in con- 
firmation of this I shall refer to facts perhaps less 
known, namely, that even in the case of dogs, habits 
that have been once engrained in their instincts be- 
come parts of their nature and go to their offspring, of 
course not habits artificial merely, put on by trick 
and education, but such, I mean, as fall in with their 
instincts, and are embraced and held firmly by these 
instincts.* 

* A race of dogs employed for hunting deer in the platform of Santa Fe, in 
Mexico, affords a beautiful illustration of a new hereditary instinct. The mode 
of attack, observes M. Raulin, which they employ, consists in seizing the ani- 
mal by the belly and overturning it by a sudden effort, taking advantage of the 
moment when the body of the deer rests only upon the fore-legs. The weight 
of the animal thus thrown over is six times that of its antagonist. The dog of 
pure breed inherits a disposition to this kind of chase, and never attacks a deer 
before, while running. Even should the deer, not perceiving him, come directly 
upon him, the dog steps aside and makes his assault upon the flank ; whereas 
other hunting dogs, though of superior strength and sagacity, which are brought 
from Europe, are destitute of this instinct. For want of similar precautions, 
they are often killed by the deer on the spot, the vertebrae of their neck being 
dislocated by the violence of the shock. 

A new instinct has also become hereditary in a mongrel race of dogs employed 
by the inhabitants of the banks of Magdalena, almost exclusively in hunting 
the white-lipped, pecari. The address of these dogs consists in restraining their 
ardor, and attaching themselves to no animal in particular, but keeping the 
whole herd in check. Now, among these dogs some are found, which, the 
very first time they are taken to the woods, are acquainted with this mode of 
attack ; whereas a dog of another breed starts forward at once, is surrounded by 

23 



178 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

Such is the evidence of the laws of nature with re- 
gard to the transmission of habits, grounded on or 
interwoven with the instincts of the creature; — such 
habits in animals bear some faint analogy with the in- 
sertion of grafts in trees ; you are aware, that not every 
tree can support a graft of every other, but to ensure 
the success of the experiment, it is necessary that the 
trees belong to what is called the same natural family; 
— it is so, in this case; you could not engraft upon the 
dog a habit which should be hereditary, which was not 
naturally allied with his instinct : it must be implanted 
in a ground of nature or it does not become vital. But 
is there in man that which has or may have the force 
of instinct ? — every thing might have, that would tend 
to raise and exalt his being, his human soul, — the love 
of truth for example, the sense of justice, the purity of 
the nobler passions ; — when such sentiments as these 
are engrafted in the religion of the individual, and 
acquire a divine character and vigor, they may be 
transmitted to his posterity, and would tend not only 
to improve the forms of the soul, but after several 
generations, to add to the natural dignity and graceful- 
ness of the body. To such conclusions, so consonant 

the pecari, and, whatever may be his strength, is destroyed in a moment. The 
fixed and deliberate stand of the pointer has with propriety been regarded as a 
mere modification of a habit which may have been useful to a wild race accus- 
tomed to wind game, and steal upon it by surprise, first pausing for an instant, 
in order to spring with unerring aim. The faculty of the retriever, however, 
may justly be regarded as more inexplicable and less easily referable to the 
instinctive passions of the species. M. Majendie, says a French writer in a 
recently published memoir, having learnt that there was a race of dogs in 
England which stopped and brought back game of their own accord, procured 
a pair, and, having obtained a whelp from them, kept it constantly under his 
eyes, until he had an opportunity of assuring himself that, without having 
received any instruction, and on the very first day that it was carried to the 
chase, it brought back game with as much steadiness as dogs which had been 
schooled into the same manoeuvre by means of the whip and collar. — Lyell, vol. 
i.$. 509. Am. Ed. 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 179 

with Christianity and so encouraging to virtue, do our 
researches into the natural history of man and the laws 
of his being certainly conduct our reason. 

Let the occurrence of these green and lively spots, 
which meet us providentially, encourage us to proceed ; 
part of the way may he a desert or beaten track, but 
new and beautiful prospects will sometimes open unex- 
pectedly before us. 

But waving all further inquiry, in the meantime, 
into the effects of civilization and the arts on the condi- 
tion of man, a subject which will again come up in 
some subsequent lecture, let us first dispose of those 
other questions, which refer to the origin of the human 
race itself, and also of those natural subordinate races 
of which it is composed. 

In regard to the origin of the human race itself, it 
seems hardly necessary to say, that we derive no infor- 
mation from either science or experience. We are 
indebted to theology altogether, for any knowledge we 
possess on the subject; but this being of a spiritual, 
rather than physical import, admits not. of any scientific 
exposition. In regard to the physical circumstances, 
which distinguished the formation or origin of the first 
man or first pair, we are consequently left altogether in 
the dark. And so entirely destitute are we of any 
facts, which could lead us to a knowledge of such cir- 
cumstances, and so remote, probably, was the nature of 
that event, from all others which have since happened, 
or of which we have any knowledge, that had even a 
faithful description of it been transmitted to us, we 
should most likely have been utterly unable to com- 
prehend it. For our understanding of a subject 
depends on certain other familiar and analogous facts, 
with which we were before acquainted ; but the crea- 
tion of the first man, as a natural event, we are com- 



180 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

pelled to think, was one of its own kind, to which 
nothing has since happened, either similar or analogous, 
— so entirely beyond the reach of our ordinary expe- 
rience, that even imagination itself cannot grapple with 
it. To see this more clearly let us suppose, — the thing 
indeed is impossible, — but let us suppose certain per- 
sons to have been shut out from all knowledge of the 
manner in which human beings are brought into ex- 
istence, — and of the several stages of infancy, — child- 
hood, and adolescence, which precede maturity, — and 
let them be told then, for the first time, that there was 
a period when they began to exist, — when God intro- 
duced them into life, conferring upon them those 
powers and functions of body and mind, which they 
at present exercise, — what ideas would they be able to 
form of all this? — without a knowledge of the facts, 
would they be able to arrive at a single just conclusion 
in regard to any one particular of the whole transaction ? 
— would not the whole appear to them an enigma, an 
inexplicable mystery ? — or would they be able to rep- 
resent truly to their imaginations, the laws of that 
divine economy, according to which the human being 
is at first carried in the womb, — afterwards born, — 
suckled by the mother for a season, — and at length, by 
slow degrees, and after a period of years, arrives at 
maturity? — We perceive at once, that neither reason 
nor imagination could here avail them any thing ; so 
little can any one tell beforehand, antecedent to experi- 
ence, of the works of the Creator, or that order which 
may distinguish them. Nay, so profoundly ignorant 
are we, especially on this subject of our own origin, that 
it would be impossible for us to know, without having 
been informed by others, and seen the same kind of 
facts constantly occurring, that we had ever begun to 
exist at all 5 — we might have supposed, that we had so 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 181 

lived on from eternity; — true, our memories extend 
back but a short space, but we forget many things, and 
we might also have forgotten all but the last thirty or 
forty years of our existence. I know that I am 
making a supposition, which it is difficult to lay hold 
of, for we have from our earliest recollection been so 
familiar with the sight of human beings, like ourselves, 
first in the state of helpless infancy, next in a more ad- 
vanced childhood, and at last in the maturity of life, 
that we seem to ourselves to have an innate perception 
of the facts in relation to man's birth, and gradual 
advance to manhood, which yet are known to us only 
from observation and experience, and would otherwise 
have lain entirely beyond the scope of our reason and 
intelligence. And the facts, whatever they were, of the 
origin and formation of the first man or first pair, stand 
to us precisely in this relation, — they are, as respects 
any knowledge we have of them, as if they had never 
been ; indeed we have no natural surmise or apprehen- 
sion even in regard to them ; — it is here no longer a 
supposition but &fact, that we are shut out from all the 
means of knowledge ; — many nations, particularly the 
Greeks and Romans, seem to have lived under an ob- 
scure belief, that men had always existed, that there 
was no time when they began to be. We however are 
fortunately delivered from that illusion, and we are 
taught, but not by the wisdom of science, that there 
was a time when God first made man upon the earth. 
But here our information ends, unless it may be con- 
sidered as a certain negative confirmation of this truth, 
that geology has hitherto discovered no bones of man in 
the primitive strata of the globe. What grounds of 
reliance are to be sought for in this much vaunted fact, 
I know not; it seems to be advanced often as a kind of 
triumphant demonstration of the truth of the first 



182 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

chapter of Genesis, from which it would appear that 
man was the last created. I must say, that my own 
faith in the divine record requires no such aids, and if 
it should therefore happen that human bones are dis- 
covered in the primitive strata, I shall be in no degree 
alarmed, for I do not think that theology is to be per- 
manently affected one way or other, by any such 
discoveries. The great point to be firmly fixed in 
the mind is, that man not less than the other living 
or organic substances of creation has had a beginning, 
and that this beginning is from God, — who has also, at 
the same time, conferred upon them all, the powers of 
indefinite multiplication, according to their kinds. 
And it is this second department of subordinate 
creation, so to speak, which now falls under our ob- 
servation and experience. The continual recapitula- 
tion of the acts of creation, so to name it, in the gene- 
ration and production of constantly new beings, similar 
to, or the same as those which were originally produced, 
although now a familiar aspect to us, is when duly 
considered, not less wonderful in itself, nor less demon- 
strative of the presence and power of the Creator, than 
the first origination of the entire creation itself was. 
It is not less worthy of admiration, it is not less an 
evidence of God, than the other, but still in itself it 
may be very different: the character and style of 
creation, so to speak, may be entirely distinct, when 
God first creates or originates species, and when he only 
deduces individuals from these, by the present estab- 
lished modes of generation and production. I wish 
that this distinction may be clearly and duly appre- 
hended, for I think I have perceived some confusion 
of ideas in the minds of most persons on the subject. 
Let us then distinctly understand and reflect upon it, 
under what kind of order of nature or order of creation 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 183 

we live, — what is the epoch : there is then, an order 
of creation, which may be termed primitive, and is 
that of species; and also an order of creation or an 
order of nature, which is secondary and consequential 
on the other, and which is the creation, generation or 
production of individuals. And it is under the reign 
of this last, or secondary creation, that we live, and 
during which even philosophy itself has been born, 
and in which, and from which, we derive all our 
ideas of nature ; the materials out of which our senti- 
ments and opinions, our theories, nay even our very 
imaginations are constructed. Respecting the primi- 
tive creation, when species, not merely individuals 
from them, but individuals ab origine rose, we can 
consequently form no natural, therefore no just con- 
ceptions. For this very epithet natural itself is taken, 
not from that nature which then sprung up, and was 
original, but from this nature which has sprung out of 
that, and which is indeed its copy as to features, but 
not as to the mode of production. In one word, there 
are now established laws or rules of nature, (so we 
name those immutable characters whereby God is 
known,) in agreement with which, the individuals of 
each species of animals spring from the parent stock, 
in consequence of which the species is immortal ; — and 
the like is true of plants ; — it is thus, — and thus, — in 
that order of nature, which now reigns, this quiet, un- 
obtrusive secondary creation, as we prefer to call it : — 
but in the primitive creation, — that first epoch, when 
the individuals, the solitary representatives of species 
first appeared, are we to imagine that those very same 
laws or rules of production or generation also governed 
and characterized that nobler, because more universal 
creation ; is it not on the contrary, more reasonable to 
suppose, that such a character of creation was distin- 



184 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

guished and adorned by an order and laws altogether 
original and peculiar, of which we have at present 
no natural ideas whatever, but only those spiritual 
impressions conveyed by revelation, — "that six days' 
work, — a world." According to this view of the sub- 
ject, provided I have made it sufficiently intelligible, it 
is not only absurd in itself, but also at variance with all 
rules of legitimate philosophy, to suppose as some have 
done, that one species of animals have sprung from 
another, the more perfect from the less perfect, — and 
so on continually, much in the same way as individuals 
are now engendered; for this entire fancy is drawn 
altogether from the analogy of the rules of creation 
which now prevail, and cannot therefore be justly ap- 
plied to explain the circumstances of a creation, which 
from its very nature was distinct and original. This is 
very much such a fancy as might be conceived to arise 
in the minds of those persons, whom I supposed to have 
been excluded from all knowledge of their own origin, 
as individuals, and that of others; among other specula- 
tions on the subject, might it not very naturally occur 
to them, — on finding themselves refreshed and invigo- 
rated by eating and drinking, — to suppose that their 
bodies were formed in this way originally, through the 
act of the Deity; and that eating and drinking, in some 
extraordinary manner, were the main features which 
characterized their entrance on existence ? 

But surely it is not necessary to multiply words or 
comparisons further, to convince us of this truth, that 
respecting the origin of plants, and animals, and men, 
we can know no more than has been revealed to us ; 
and that the researches of science reach only to that 
order of nature, or that system of creation, which has 
existed since the appearance of man on the globe. 
That the primitive system was essentially distinct in 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 185 

its laws and phenomena, we are led to conceive, not 
only from the express tenor of the sacred language, but 
also from the manifest analogies of God's works. The 
laws of the generation and production of individuals 
according to species are now unerring ; and it is con- 
trary to the analogies of nature to suppose that they 
were ever different; in no one instance, has it been 
found that a new species of animals had arisen from 
one that has before existed; — and distinct species do 
not mix, so as to produce an offspring that is itself pro- 
ductive to the third or fourth generation; — ordinary 
generation and production, is the constant reproduction 
and perpetuation of the individual of the race ; it is, so 
to speak, but the multiplication of the copy, — that one 
plant or animal, which existed originally, and the same, 
— the present system of nature being the means pro- 
vided by which as many countries as possible, and the 
successive generations of the inhabitants, might have 
an opportunity of seeing it, — and to say " this is indeed 
that very same plant or animal which God made, — and 
now we have seen it ourselves and believe!" 

Indeed, if we regard it properly, it seems like a con- 
tradiction to the most profound sentiment of reason, 
that a new and distinct natural species should arise out 
of another, as individuals are now procreated ; it would 
be rendering nature itself creative, which is a delegated 
instrument merely, to multiply and exhibit that which 
is originally created. 

Let it then be impressed on the mind, that original 
and primitive creation is distinct from the secondary 
and subordinate. It is true, as has been said, "that 
preservation is perpetual creation," but it is carried on 
through distinct laws and phenomena of its own. And 
it is a reflection not unpleasing to the imagination, thus 
distinctly to see it to be true, not only on the informa- 

24 



186 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

tion of theology, but also on the inferences of reason 
and the laws of philosophy, that there has existed on 
our planet, — when, or for how long a period we know 
not, — but that there has existed an order of events, en- 
tirely different from the present, when the genera and 
species of nature, in their first types and representa- 
tives, rose to adorn, and beautify, and animate the 
globe. It was a spectacle exhibited once, and then, 
and had we been there to take memoranda of the oc- 
currences, and to register their order, the antecedents, 
and the consequents, the periods and the seasons, we 
should have understood something of the physical style 
of original creation ; and as there is reason to believe, 
that new earths are constantly coming into existence, 
in which similar exhibitions of creative power are re- 
peated and renewed, we could then be able to tell, on 
the ground of our natural faith in the immutability of 
the divine councils and operations, the general order 
and manner, according to which all such replenishing, 
enlivening and adorning of rudimental planets, — the 
destined dwelling places of men, the future theatres of 
their transactions,— are, or have been accomplished. 
Meanwhile we must be contented to remain ignorant 
of this field of the divine labors, satisfied that for good 
and wise reasons, this kind of knowledge is now with- 
held from us. But is the field of view thereby con- 
tracted, so as to be too narrow for our minds ? Is there 
not ample scope afforded for the most delightful re- 
search into all those laws of order, whereby provision 
is made for the security and perpetuation of the original 
creation ? — if not admitted, as it were, to an audience 
on the first enunciation of the divine ideas embodied 
in the universe, we are yet fortunate enough to attend 
to the constant recapitulation of them, and if we have 
not heard the divine voice itself, we hear at least that 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 187 

echo of it returned by nature, which obeys the call and 
is perpetually renewed. 

So much in regard to the physical origin of the 
human race, and that magnificent "terra incognita" to 
w T hich it belongs, and on which only sufficient light is 
shed to indicate its existence, and to preclude all hopes 
of ever approaching it. In regard to the moral and 
spiritual condition of mankind, in their primeval state, 
a more distinct picture is furnished through the means 
of revelation. A single family of the group, under the 
names Adam and Eve — man and woman, is presented 
to us, — their residence a garden, and a synopsis of their 
mental condition is exhibited to us in other expressive 
characters, as in a certain mystic tree, named " the tree 
of life," — another called " the tree of the knowledge of 
good and evil," by the eating of which seems to have 
been indicated the fall of the human race, from the 
lively and clear views of primeval theology, into the 
dim twilight of modern science, in which through evil 
we learn good. But respecting all these events, what- 
ever may have been their natural bearings and rela- 
tions, we have received no sure scientific informa- 
tion ; — of the duration, or the country — the theatre of 
this golden age of the human family, — we have gain- 
ed no intelligence ; whether it were a country over 
which now roll the waves of the broad Atlantic, or, 
what is more generally believed, the vast champaign 
of the inland regions of temperate Asia, is a problem 
still to be solved. But in whatever light we may 
view such subjects, one thing is manifest, that the pre- 
sent, or, what some would call, the post-diluvian race 
of mankind is comparatively of very recent origin, and 
that it has hardly put forth the first tender leaves of its 
terrestrial insemination. But, as it now exists, it is 
evidently marked off into certain distinct natural 



188 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

families, only one of which, within the last few thou- 
sand years of its existence, has begun to develop what 
may be conceived to be the proper germ of humanity : 
I allude here, you will perceive, to the Caucasian 
branch of the human family, which, whatever may be 
its comparative distinction hereafter, when the other 
races shall have advanced on the career of a just civili- 
zation, is at present, as respects intellectual expansion — 
this unfolding of leaves — evidently in advance of all 
the others. But it is the prerogative of intellect to 
be precocious ; the other races after a few thousand 
years may far excel them in moral development, in 
that nobler civilization which arises from the cultiva- 
tion of innocence, simplicity and virtue, — a civilization 
the most enduring, because the only right kind, but the 
latest in arriving at perfection, — " their leaf also shall 
not wither, and whatsoever they do shall prosper." 

Of the existence of these distinct natural families 
of the human species, no one, who is capable of the 
least reflection, can for a moment doubt. The origin 
of these is another question: from what causes they 
have existed, or why they come to inhabit those sepa- 
rate regions of the globe, which have been assigned to 
them, is among those numerous problems which sci- 
ence cannot solve ; but is compelled to indicate the 
fact, without presuming to ascertain the reason. For 
as we are ignorant of the nature of those agencies or 
influences which build up the human body, allotting to 
each organ its proper place, and form, and function ; 
here marking out a region for the heart, and forthwith 
designing and establishing one, — and there a separate 
department for the brain, and constructing that also, 
and in like manner so disposing and perfecting all other 
parts, and functions, and members, according to their 
use, design, and tendency, binding the whole into 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 189 

a unity, the most perfect and admirable, the body of 
man, — as we are profoundly ignorant how all this is 
effected, and yet the fact is undeniable, so are we also 
in the dark in respect to those causes and influences 
which have produced different and distinct families of 
the human race, and have brought each within its 
allotted climate and place on the globe. That it has 
been all an affair of accident, we are not at liberty to 
suppose, for this would be to contradict at once both 
common sense and philosophy ; and neither is it more 
rational to suppose that the different members of the 
human family, having been separated at an early 
period, the present discriminations which exist among 
them have arisen from climate or other local causes. 
This is not one whit more philosophical than it would 
be to say, that because the arms and hands have occu- 
pied the upper extremities of the body, therefore they 
are arms and hands, and not legs or feet, and that it is 
the mere fact of their collocation which renders the 
feet, feet, and the hands, hands. No doubt the feet are 
best adapted to that position in the body which they 
occupy, and so the hands to theirs, and in like manner 
every member and organ in the body is best fitted to 
its own place ; but still it is contrary to reason to say 
that it is the place or collocation that has determined 
either the form or use of the part; there is the evi- 
dence of wise design in all such relations of the whole 
to the parts and the parts to the whole, of the organ to 
the place and the place to the organ, and it becomes a 
theme of just admiration, that such perfect harmony 
should every where prevail ; but when we proceed 
farther, and would specify that such and such relations 
having been once established, such and such others 
followed of necessity, and were added, we are wading 



190 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

beyond our depth, and into a sea of interminable and 
audacious speculation. 

The same observations will bear to be applied to the 
position and distribution of the different families of 
mankind. It is certainly a remarkable fact, that the 
Negro family of the human species should have been 
naturally confined to the peninsula of Africa, and 
should never have traveled beyond it from voluntary 
choice. Philosophers have found a constitutional adap- 
tation in this case to the climate and local circumstan- 
ces of this their native and allotted home, and there 
can be no question that there is, and that when the 
epoch of their civilization arrives, in the lapse of ages, 
they will display in their native land some very peculiar 
and interesting traits of character, of which we, a dis- 
tinct branch of the human family, can at present form 
no conception. It will be — indeed it must be — a civil- 
ization of a peculiar stamp ; perhaps we might venture 
to conjecture, not so much distinguished by art as a 
certain beautiful nature, not so marked or adorned by 
science as exalted and refined by a certain new and 
lovely theology ; — a reflection of the light of heaven 
more perfect and endearing than that which the intel- 
lects of the Caucasian race have ever yet exhibited. 
There is more of the child, of unsophisticated nature, in 
the Negro race than in the European, a circumstance 
however which must always lower them in the estima- 
tion of a people whose natural distinction is a manly and 
proud bearing, and an extreme proneness to artificial 
society, and social institutions : the peculiar civilization 
which nature designs for each is obviously different, and 
they may impede, but never can promote the improve- 
ment of each other. It was a sad error of the white 
race, besides the moral guilt which was contracted, 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 191 

when they first dragged the African, contrary to his 
genius and inclination, from his native regions : a vol- 
untary choice would never have led the Negro into 
exile ; the peninsula of Africa is his home, and the 
appropriate and destined seat of his future glory and 
civilization, — a civilization which, we need not fear to 
predict, will be as distinct in all its features from that 
of all other races, as his complexion and natural tem- 
perament and genius are different. But who can doubt 
that here also humanity, in its more advanced and 
millenial stage, will reflect, under a sweet and mellow 
light, the softer attributes of the divine beneficence. 
If the Caucassian race is destined, as would appear from 
the precocity of their genius and their natural quick- 
ness, and extreme aptitude to the arts, to reflect the 
lustre of the divine wisdom, or, to speak more properly, 
the divine science, shall we envy the Negro, if a later 
but far nobler civilization await him, — to return the 
splendor of the divine attributes of mercy and bene- 
volence in the practice and exhibition of all the milder 
and gentler virtues ? It is true, the present rude linea- 
ments of the race might seem to give little warrant for 
the indulgence of hopes so romantic ; but yet those 
who will reflect upon the natural constitution of the 
African may see some ground even for such anticipa- 
tions ; — can we not read an aptitude for this species of 
civilization I refer to, in that singular light-heartedness 
which distinguishes the whole race, — in their natural 
want of solicitude about the future, in them a vice at 
present, but yet the natural basis of a virtue, — and 
especially in that natural talent for music with which 
they are pre-eminently endowed, to say nothing of 
their willingness to serve, the most beautiful trait of 
humanity, which we, from our own innate love of do- 
minion, and in defiance of the Christian religion, brand 



192 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

with the name of servility, and abuse not less to our 
own dishonor than their injury. But even amid these 
untoward circumstances there burst forth occasionally 
the indications of that better destiny, to which nature 
herself will at last conduct them, and from which they 
are at present withheld, not less by the mistaken kind- 
ness of their friends, than the injustice of their op- 
pressors : for so jealous is nature of her freedom, that 
she repels all interference, even of the most be- 
nevolent kind, and will suffer only that peculiar good 
or intelligence to be elicited, of which she has her- 
self deposited the seeds or rudiments in the human 
bosom. 

Perhaps, however, such expectations may seem chi- 
merical, and it may rather be thought, that there exist 
no such elements of native character in that race, as to 
justify the hope of such a peculiar development of 
mind, as would constitute a happier species of civiliza- 
tion ; — and such undoubtedly will be the opinion of 
those, who consider the European civilization the stan- 
dard, and whatever may deviate from that, a blemish. 
But let it only be considered, how much our sentiments 
are warped, or indeed fixed, by our natural bent of 
mind ; and then, perhaps, we shall have less difficulty 
in conceiving, how a certain species of the most beauti- 
ful and yet real refinement might exist, with far less of 
intellectual display, and science, and art, than at pre- 
sent characterize the civilization of the white races. If 
there are fewer vivid manifestations of intellect in the 
Negro family, than in the Caucasian, as I am disposed 
to believe, does that forbid the hope of the return of 
that pure and gentle state of society among them, 
which attracts the peculiar regard of Heaven, and to 
which Homer seems to allude as having existed among 
them — 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 193 

The sire of Gods, and all th' etherial train, 

On the warm limits of the farthest main 

Now mix with mortals, nor disdain to grace 

The feasts of ^Ethiopia's blameless race ; 

Twelve days the powers indulge the genial rite 

Returning with the twelfth revolving light. — Iliad, Book I. 

But under whatever light we may view the moral 
disposition and genius and capacity of this race of men, 
one thing is certain, that as respects both their physical 
and mental condition, they are naturally and originally 
distinct. How this has happened, it is impossible to 
tell ; at all events, we never can concur with the opin- 
ions of Buffon and others, who ascribe all their pecu- 
liar characteristics to the mere operation of climate and 
local circumstances ; intimating by these opinions, that 
had the same chance, which they suppose to have in- 
troduced them into Africa, and shut them up there, 
brought them into Europe, — to the southern countries 
of Greece or Italy, or to the northern parts of Gaul and 
Germany, they would have all the characteristics, or 
similar ones, of those races which in ancient or modern 
times have inhabited there. This seems to me very 
much such an assertion as it would be to say, that were 
our legs and arms to change places, our legs would be 
arms and our arms legs, which at all events, is an ab- 
surdity in language, if nothing else. We regard it as 
the effect of a particular Providence, or, to speak in the 
dialect of science, an express law of nature, that each 
peculiar race of men should occupy those limits, which 
have been assigned them, and none other : and we may 
consider it as a part of this same natural arrangement, 
that a race of people of that distinctive genius, which 
belongs to the Caucasian variety, and occupying that 
portion of the globe, which has become their native 
residence, should for the first ages at least, take the lead 
in civilization, and bear the torch of science and moral 

25 



194 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

improvement in advance of the other races, — to shed 
light on the resources of human nature, and be, as it 
were, the pioneers of humanity, fitted in a wonder- 
ful degree, for the accomplishment of bold and ori- 
ginal undertakings. But in succeeding ages, gentler 
duties may be needed, and a race of milder tempera- 
ment may best accomplish them. 

But our sentiments on this subject are at present ex- 
ceedingly contracted, and destitute of that expansion of 
views, which is required by philosophy. For as it has 
been observed, that the true science of geology has 
been retarded, through the influence of popular appre- 
hensions in regard to the age of the earth, and also from 
theories deduced from mere local phenomena, so are 
we prevented from taking enlarged views of the varied 
relations of the different natural races of mankind, 
from considering the past, as the criterion of the future, 
and the historical relations, as the natural relations, and 
consequently fixed and immutable, which may be very 
much the contrary, — also from imagining, that the 
world, which is now only beginning, is fast hastening 
to its termination, while so many nations are still 
plunged in barbarism, and have never been able to ap- 
proach that perfect civilization, which has prevailed 
among us, and which of course we are willing to con- 
sider as the model, which the human race are bound to 
imitate. In consequence of these lurking prejudices, 
in regard both to the duration of time itself, and also 
the right elements of civilization, we are unable to 
bring ourselves unto a position, from which fairly to 
estimate the relations of our civilization to that which 
may hereafter arise, among tribes now exceedingly ob- 
scure and barbarous, but which coming late, and having 
none of that precocious refinement which distinguishes 
ours, and veils an excessive ambition and selfishness, 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 195 

may, as respects an innate love of goodness, and the 
majesty and strength of the moral discriminations, as 
far surpass our present civilization, as we now excel 
them, in all the distinctions of a daring and successful 
intellect. That we even now excel them in every spe- 
cies of moral worth, is at least problematical. 

But here, be it observed, 1 advance no theory, but 
only make these suggestions, to awaken reflection on 
the subject, and to rivet attention on certain most inter- 
esting facts, which form part of the natural history of 
man. For what can be more interesting to a reflecting 
mind, than this grand natural classification of mankind, 
— the varied groups, which occupy the different regions 
of the globe, differing not less in their moral and intel- 
lectual progress, than in their physical constitution, — - 
truly a vast and most magnificent school, in which how- 
ever, the most forward are not always the soundest 
intellects, nor the most ambitious at last the truest men ; 
one eye alone surveys the whole, and marks already the 
distinct colors of their destiny, and all the possible re- 
lations which can arise among them. We see but very 
partially indeed, and yet two races stand forth in pro- 
minent relief among the rest, whose mental and physi- 
cal characters seem already well defined, and no longer 
to be mistaken ; I mean the African and European, or 
more properly, the Negro and Caucasian; the one 
extremely provincial, and confined from natural inclina- 
tion to one quarter of the globe, the peninsula of Africa ; 
the other more migratory in its habits, — having roamed 
westward from the centre of Asia, and explored and set- 
tled the most inhospitable, as well as the most inviting 
countries of Europe ; — the former hitherto almost sta- 
tionary, as respects progress in the arts, and apparently 
as fixed in mental compass, as in local residence ; the 
latter not less remarkable for freedom of intellectual 



196 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

research, than the extent of their wanderings, — always 
inquiring after something new, — in their western voy- 
ages and emigrations, having reached the farthest extre- 
mities of Europe at an early period, and then wait- 
ing with seeming impatience until Providence had 
opened to them this new and almost boundless conti- 
nent, which still seems not large enough to satisfy their 
ambition, or gratify their curiosity. Such are the well- 
known traits of this race of mankind, among whom 
we rank; how much contrasted with the genius of that 
iEthiopean family, who have been also not seldom the 
victims of their tyranny, or else of their ill-timed com- 
passion. Not one African ever crossed the wide waters 
with his own consent ; and with unalloyed satisfaction 
and delight, would he have been contented to have 
basked, unmolested and undisturbed, on his own sunny 
plains, until the genius of native civilization, appear- 
ing on the banks of the Niger or the Congo, had 
roused him from his stupor, and infusing new senti- 
ments and ideas into his mind, opened to him a career 
of improvement congenial with his nature, and adapted 
to his character. But the seasons, and occasions of na- 
tional developments, and much more, those magnifi- 
cent expansions of the mental energies of races, are 
things as yet very imperfectly understood;, the world 
is yet too young ; some ten thousand years of additional 
progress may shed light upon the subject. Only this 
much we may venture to affirm, that, in agreement 
with the laws of universal nature, nothing is or can be, 
absolutely stationary, the human race least of all so, — 
tending constantly to an elevated moral condition, or to 
actual extinction. 

But we behold as yet only the introduction to the 
drama, and our own race being itself a part of the pa- 
geant, we are not by any means certain, that those 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 197 

relations, under which we view the various movements, 
are such as would appear to an eye that took in the 
whole : and we shall consider that we have secured a 
point, if we have only properly impressed this much, 
through this desultory lecture, namely, that there is 
much likelihood, that we may be mistaken in the 
moral estimate which we form, in regard to the grand 
divisions of the human family, in consequence of not 
duly appreciating the native bent of each, and in 
reckoning the precocity of intellect, and that species 
of civilization which is attached to it, as the summum 
bonum of the social human condition. 

But in our future lectures we shall have an opportu- 
nity of referring to such points more fully and dis- 
tinctly. In the meantime, let us recapitulate, and 
under one view, the various points of the present 
lecture, in order that we may see them under their 
natural light or natural obscurity, and no longer con- 
found together the known and the unknown. 

The points then, both known and unknown, are 
these : 

In the first place, that the human race is one, and 
that this oneness is recognized as a truth of religion, — 
and becomes morally and civilly recognizable also in 
those universal principles of the moral law, which all 
men more or less discover written in their hearts, or 
described in their social usages, to which the implanted 
moral sense responds. All human beings understand 
the moral obligations, and yield them homage: this is 
the veriest sign of natural unity, the most catholic and 
the most intelligible. The other sign, which is a 
physical one, is inscribed on the human form; — the 
human form is one, — the same bones, teeth, obvious 
relations and proportions, attitudes, movements, physi- 
cal gesture and behavior, so that all who see the 



198 LECTURE THE SEVENTH. 

creature say, " it is a man," and there is not even room 
for equivocation, so palpable is the fact. — This then, 
is the first known and clear point. Religion sheds 
one light on it, and science another, and we read it 
both in sun light, and in moon light, that man is one, 
essentially so, the image of his maker on the one hand, 
the epitome of nature on the other. 

The second point is this, that this one family, man, is 
composed ab origine of several very distinct and diffe- 
rent members, some of which are very well denned 
and obviously separated from each other, as for ex- 
ample, the Caucasian and Negro, and others not less 
distinct, although not so easily shown ; — this I say is 
the second point of our lecture, and it is maintained, 
that these distinctions originate in that terra incognita 
of natural facts, which looms behind in the far distance, 
— within that dark and shadowy epoch, beneath whose 
dynasty also the natural species and genera first came 
into being on our globe, — and among the rest, man 
himself: — this second point then you will observe, 
belongs partly to the obscure, and partly to the bright 
portions of our knowledge. It is a bright fact, and 
there is no denying of it, for instance, that the Negro 
and European, belong to distinct races of men, I mean 
such as cannot be shown to be bred out of any combi- 
nation of causes natural or artificial, with which we are 
acquainted : and the causes then, or the things which 
produced those original distinctions, I aver that I know 
nothing of, — they are obscure. 

The third point is this, — and which is partly obscure, 
but I believe, will not always remain so, — that there 
should exist such disparity of civilization in these dif- 
ferent races. I have said something on this subject, 
and will say more in the next lecture : but time itself 
will be the fullest elucidator, — when also the just, and 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 199 

the true, and the good, under the beneficent influence 
of the Christian religion, and the cultivation of the 
virtues, shall be more thoroughly appreciated, and more 
dearly loved. 

A fourth point is not obscure, but notwithstanding 
very wonderful, to wit, that men are so moulded by 
education and religion, as to produce those latent forms 
of beauty and gracefulness, which were unknown to 
themselves and their progenitors, but which, through 
loved and cherished habits of virtue, in themselves, 
afterwards become conspicuous in their offspring. In 
this fact is laid the possibility of indefinite human 
improvement, according to the natural genus, and 
character or race, but not to the obliteration of either : 
— the Caucasian becomes a noble Caucasian, the Negro 
a noble Negro, the one the brilliant form of versatile 
genius, the other the very type itself of affection and of 
gentleness. This is not only a clear point but also a 
very interesting one. 

A fifth point, — which is very obscure, and so obscure 
that I shall say nothing on it, and hardly drag it into 
day, — is this, — but those that choose can think upon 
it, — that as it is proven, that certain races of animals 
have become extinct, — forty-five species of Pachyder- 
mata, says Cuvier, many approaching the elephant in 
size, — in like manner, may it not be, — but none can 
tell, — that not a few members also of the universal 
human race have been actually and physically "blotted 
out of the book of life?" — if so, through their own 
fault, we may be well assured ; and the warning is a 
tremendous one, — without any literal conflagration, 
not only nations but even whole natural races, branch 
and root, may cease to be, — and the earth and heaven, 
as respects them, "perish," although to "endure for 
ever," to other new and regenerate races; — let not 



200 LECTURE THE SEYENTH. 

then, the Caucasian boast, nor the Ethiopian either ; — 
they hold their physical and generic existence on the 
tenor solely of this law, "whatsoever ye would that 
men should do to you, do ye even so to them." 

But this fifth point is an extremely obscure one, — 
and 1 shall even leave it so ; — although who can think 
on the pyramids of Teotehuacan and Cholula, and the 
human figures, so peculiar and distinct from any 
physiognomy now existing, there discovered on their 
broken and shattered monuments, — or those numerous 
mounds, which dot this continent, — assuredly it had 
not been always a wilderness, — who can think on these 

things, and not have his misgivings? But with 

better omens would we close this lecture, — to hail 
once more new races of men just starting on the career 
of civilization: our own intellectual light may be 
eclipsed or obscured, under a milder and softer radi- 
ance, yet to be shed over the wilds of Africa, the 
plains of Hindostan, or the far spreading regions of 
China and of Tartary ; but who shall regret it, if the 
reign of goodness shall at last supersede the supremacy 
of truth, and feminine prevail over masculine virtue? — 
it may be but a delusion of our Caucasian imagination, 
that the latter is possessed of more vigor, and majesty 
than the former : the Minerva of antiquity, although a 
female, was the goddess of war, — and Homer surely 
was not ignorant of the natural emblem of strength. 



LECTURE THE EIGHTH; 



UNITY IN VARIETY OF THE HUMAN RACE. 



That there are local centres whence have proceeded all living forms; founded in 
reason to us inscrutable, but the perfection of intelligence. — Under similar 
influences these forms are found to be the same in their general aspect, but 
specifically different, which accords with our instinctive impressions. — On the 
variety of nature a unity is every where impressed. — Its contemplation bene- 
ficial. — Evidences of variety in unity in the kingdoms of nature, especially 
in the human kingdom. — Variety of races as well as their unity original.— 
The unity of the human race cannot be traced to any particular family, but 
may be supposed originally to have combined in itself every variety that now 
exists. — Folly of conjecture as to the destiny of different races from their 
present disproportionate advancement. — Natural characteristics of the Afri- 
can and Caucasian Evil of their admixture. — The Caucasian essentially 

one race, but comprising several varieties The Germans, Gauls, and 

Britons; characterized by an inquiring, restless spirit. — The Jews, Persians, 
and Egyptians; the mystics of the race, and the subjects of ritual revela- 
tions. — The Asiatic and Greek mind contrasted. Utilitarian bent of the 
European branch. — Conclusion. 

In Australasia there is an order of quadrupeds, 
which are called the marsupial or pouched, and are 
prevalent there, particularly in New Holland, but have 
not their congeners in any other quarter of the globe, 
except it be one solitary species, the opossom of North 
America. Can any one perceive the reason why this 
peculiar order of animated beings should have such a 
locality assigned to them, and that one straggling 

26 



202 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

species of the natural family should be found in this 
New World? There is an arrangement of animals 
on the globe, and of all living forms, which is founded 
on some reason^ — to us inscrutable and hidden among 
the mysteries of nature ; but I know not how, it seems 
to be a feature of sublimity in this subject which ele- 
vates the mind even more than certain knowledge 
could have done, to find that there is an arrangement 
of living creatures, and that the boundaries of their 
habitations have been fixed, but that we are unable to 
discover the law of the arrangement, or the reason 
on which it is founded, while at the same time we 
have an intimate conviction that that law exists, and 
that that reason whence it proceeds is the perfection 
of intelligence. The very knowledge of our ignorance 
on such important points which touch on the divine 
government of the world, is no slight acquisition of 
true philosophy, and is the best preparation for the 
attainment of a pure and elevated mind, — the end of 
all knowledge. Although therefore I conveyed to you 
little positive information in my last lecture, on the sub- 
ject which engaged our attention, I am convinced it was 
the most profitable one, in many respects, which I have 
delivered, because the subject itself opens to us the 
widest view of a vast and unknown territory of future 
discovery, a new continent of philosophy, of which 
nearly all that we distinctly know is, that it positively 
exists, and that it is a region strewed with the wonders 
of creation. I allude, you perceive, to the origin and 
collocation of species, which is a field invested with a 
pleasing mystery; certain skeptics in theology have 
affected surprise, that the universal Christian religion 
should have had but one local origin ; what, if it shall 
be found, (and it seems likely to be established,) that all 
generic and specific creations whatever, which in their 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 203 

origins could not help but be as purely miraculous as 
the Christian religion itself, — interruptions of the 
established order of nature, as we view it, — have also 
had each but one local centre from which they have 
been diffused, and those too selected on reasons as 
arbitrary apparently to us, as the fact of the designa- 
tion of one separate nation to be the depository of the 
first seed, or germ, of the Christian faith. Equally 
arbitrary does it seem that races of men of distinct 
genius and character should have been assigned to 
certain determinate quarters of the globe : but the 
fact is nevertheless incontestible. You can perceive 
even from the commentaries of Caesar, who wrote 
before the Christian era, the radical elements of the 
present French character in the barbarous tribes which 
inhabited the Gallic country. And the same observa- 
tion may be made on Britain, Germany, and other 
countries. Asia and Africa have a character marked 
on the human population as little to be mistaken, and 
on the whole and within certain limits as permanent, 
as that which is visible in the natural races of the ani- 
mals of each, and of the plants which are found there. 
Is it the physical atmosphere which determines the 
character, or is it the peculiar institution of their 
religions and arts? But what, again, rendered that 
very institution peculiar ? — the physical atmosphere of 
the country ? Here we shall find ourselves perpetually 
treading in an unintelligible circle of causes and 
effects, in regard to which we can determine neither 
the sequence nor the precedence. How much nobler 
is it at once to make confession of our ignorance, and 
henceforth proceed to record the facts and occurren- 
ces, — and to recognize the disposition of a Supreme 
Intelligence, whose reasons are beyond the ken of our 
most acute philosophy, and probably never can, — 



£04 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

unless very faintly and like shadows flitting on the 
surface of nature, — he understood by us. Let us then, 
with feelings of a different order, and more akin to 
simplicity, be willing to regard this globe of which we 
are the inhabitants, — and which is under the entire 
disposal of an omnipotent Intelligence, — here parcel- 
ling out its different regions for different uses, and 
various productions, whose ends and intentions (as well 
as the design of the whole arrangement) are perfectly 
known to the presiding Mind ; — but we, — like chil- 
dren looking on, and full of wonder and astonishment 
at all we behold, and very agreeably excited by the 
stir, and labor, and movement, which we discern, and 
the occasional and partial glimpses of the plan which 
we sometimes catch, — are contented still to seek an 
innocent amusement and gratification in conjecturing 
what may come next, — or what may be the design 
and purpose of this and the other arrangement, — and 
what, after a time, when the whole is completed, 
and the summer and the harvest have arrived, — what 
then will be the aspect of all this fair and goodly show 
of created objects, which in the spring of their exis- 
tence interest us so much, and puzzle our understand- 
ings so thoroughly to comprehend what may be the 
general design, scope, and tendency of it all ? But as 
children are benefited by their own conjectures and 
reasonings even about works which they cannot yet 
comprehend, and such amusement constitutes a salu- 
tary exercise of mind, so may we also derive benefit 
from those inquiries in which we are now engaged, 
difficult as they may seem ; and we shall not therefore 
scruple to pursue them : — but our proposed course in 
this lecture we trust may be more satisfactory than 
our last. 

Were we to ascend the peak of TenerifFe, we should 



NATURAL, HISTORY OF MAN. 205 

find (so botanists have informed us) its surface to be 
distinguished by certain natural zones of vegetation, in 
marked and regular succession ; the first, the region of 
vines, the temperature best adapted to them ; the se- 
cond that of laurels, chestnuts and oaks ; the third of 
pines ; and then would succeed in order mountain broom, 
stunted grass and the like, until the last vestige of vege- 
tation disappeared. Very similar would be the arrange- 
ment of zones or botanical regions, from the equator 
towards either pole, if no irregularities of elevation, or 
other causes deranging the laws of the distribution of 
heat, according to latitude, were interposed. In that 
case, we should see either hemisphere of the globe 
marked off from the equator on either side, with each 
pole the central point, invested with regular zones of 
analogous vegetation, blooming round the earth, — 
stripes and patches laid off, with all the exactness of an 
artificial garden. There would still be, (supposing the 
present laws of nature in other respects to prevail,) the 
same variety of species that now exist, but their locali- 
ties would be regularly determined, and readily identi- 
fied ; still according to that plan of nature which we 
have known to obtain, it would not follow, that at cor- 
responding points of latitude and consequently climate, 
and location, an absolute identity of species would be 
found ; only the general aspect of vegetation would be 
similar ; the cursory view of the landscape might cre- 
ate the impression that plants were the same, and it 
would not happen, until we had examined them with 
some attention, that we could discover them to be spe- 
cifically different. Identity of climate and location, 
therefore, do not secure identity of specific character, 
but what we may call identity of analogy only. There 
is just that sameness, which may inform us, that we 
are still under the dominion, or within the premises of 



5206 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

the same prevailing nature, but that this nature is inex- 
haustible in her resources ; that she can diversify her 
plans with endless profusion of forms and types of 
beauty, but never lose sight of that sacred principle of 
unity, which is the main charm of her works, and the 
symbol of His presence, who has crowned her with all 
this loveliness and perfection. It is indeed most won- 
derful to observe, (and the notoriety of the fact ought 
not to be permitted to divest it of its interest,) how the 
same unity of design and plan of action, so to speak, is 
pursued undeviatingly from region to region, from con- 
tinent to continent, — how mountains, how oceans even, 
interposed, are not allowed to interrupt or to confound 
this oneness of intention, this harmony and continuity 
of parts. It seems almost incredible to us, that nations 
of men could ever have admitted into their creed, the 
idea of a plurality of gods, when the whole of nature 
bears on it so distinctly the impress of one mind, nay, 
the more strikingly, for that it is so exceedingly diver- 
sified, than if there prevailed an absolute sameness, a 
perfect monotony over the whole surface of the globe ; 
and under all similar circumstances of climate and lo- 
cation, plants and animals were not only analogous, but 
also specifically and individually alike. For amid such 
a multiplicity of apparently contradictory and opposing 
objects, still to superinduce a unity, and to fix it so gra- 
phically on all of them, as to be the most conspicuous 
point every where, seems to me the clearest indication 
not only of One, but an Almighty Intelligence. So 
remarkable is this fact in nature, and constantly present 
to our observation, that it seems indelibly to have im- 
pressed itself upon our minds, so that we instinctively 
expect to find nature every where the same, and on the 
strength of this expectation, sometimes err, in supposing 
an identity, where analogy only is to be discovered. For 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 207 

this natural unity, in distant parts of the globe, be- 
comes visible under generic rather than specific charac- 
ters. We find for example, on this continent, growing 
wild and spontaneous, the same natural classes of trees, 
shrubs, and other plants, which are to be met with in 
Europe : the genera are the same, but the species for 
the most part different, almost entirely so, at those 
points of either continent, where they are most widely 
separated. Thus we find here, as on the continent of 
Europe, the pine, the beech, the elm, the alder, the 
walnut, the oak, the thorn, but the species are very 
rarely the same : the genera hold, the species vary. 
And the European traveler, at certain points of his 
journey across this continent, might stop to indulge for 
a moment the pleasing illusion, that he was in the midst 
of some wild scene of his own country ; he finds him- 
self surrounded with aspects, and brief glimpses of 
nature, so perfectly similar: but a little farther conside- 
ration dispels the illusion ; he discovers the plants at his 
feet to be not precisely identical; he may recognize 
some old acquaintances, the dandelion, or the wild tre- 
foil, but these he soon finds to have been exotics like 
himself; the great majority of the species are foreign 
to him in their individual bearing, in their general as- 
pect, somewhat familiar ; they have enough to identify 
them as the property of the same nature, which has im- 
pressed her own seal upon them, but they have distinct 
peculiarities of their own, which constitute, as it were, 
their individual name and rank in the families of Flora. 
The same remarks will apply to the animal tribes, whe- 
ther quadruped or winged. The earlier settlers of this 
country gave to the new birds which they met with, 
the names of such as were before familiar to them, from 
some general resemblance which they discovered, and 
indeed the general resemblance is visible, but the spe- 



208 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

cific identity is no longer to be found ; — and that word 
home, which the first emigrants labored so earnestly to 
fix on every object around them, refused to remain 
legible on the tablets of nature ; — it was indeed their 
home, inasmuch as it was a grand division of that mag- 
nificent dwelling-place, which the author of nature has 
prepared for all his children ; it was home in this sense, 
and they could recognize all the analogous vestiges of 
his care, and of his providence, as in their own first, 
and domestic, and familiar home; but still inasmuch as 
the species of objects were changed before their eyes, 
they were obliged at last to consider it a new home, a 
foreign home. The associations of childhood were 
gradually dropped, the recollections of the old world 
melted away, and as a new offspring of human beings 
sprung up, new attachments and new sympathies grew 
and extended ; and fresh, and before unexplored aspects 
of nature became familiar ; until at length those char- 
acteristics of natural scenery and of living beings which 
are here unfolded, have become the standard of nature 
to the inhabitants, which they would instinctively expect 
to meet with, even in those countries whence their 
forefathers came, and might feel a certain disappoint- 
ment in not discovering them there : they would look 
round them to find their own mocking-birds, — the ma- 
jestic maize, — the peculiar shrubbery of their own 
native forests, — and might perhaps try to soothe their 
disappointment, by affixing familiar " household words" 
to strange objects, on such fancied analogies, as might 
at first strike them. 

I mention these facts, as showing, that we have a 
certain and instinctive expectation of finding nature 
every where the same, — always consistent with, and 
true to herself ; and whence arises this expectation, but 
from those impressions which from the first dawn of 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 209 

existence have been made upon us; for our minds are, 
as it were, an invisible mirror, which receive and con- 
stantly retain a general, and on the whole a true image 
of nature, which requires indeed certain re-adjustments 
from our reason on some points, but in others is more 
vivid and just than philosophy herself, with all her 
study, could ever render it. And this is exhibited prin- 
cipally, in those natural sentiments, which are found to 
be universal among mankind : they are, for the most 
part, nay, we may say always, in some modified sense, 
the spontaneous expression of some universal law, the 
reflected image of nature's voice caught from the hu- 
man soul, and on that account entitled to our most 
careful consideration. For surely the unbiassed evi- 
dence of the human mind itself, in regard to certain 
kinds of truth, is not less deserving of attention, than 
are those chemical, or otherwise physical tests, for the 
most part preferred by the inductive philosophy. And 
this copy, taken, as it were, unconsciously to our minds, 
of the true laws of nature, is oftentimes more legible, 
as a transcript, than the bright original, which is some- 
times too bright for our intellectual reading. The sen- 
timental knowledge is not only the best, but sometimes 
the only knowledge which can be had. In regard how- 
ever, to this natural expectation which we entertain in 
respect to the consistency and unity of nature, it is con- 
firmed at all points, and readily verified by the widest 
intellectual scrutiny. And the instinctive sentiment 
receives constant accessions of strength and vividness, 
from those numerous and striking analogies which are 
found to prevail throughout the animal, vegetable and 
mineral kingdoms, those emulations, as it were, of na- 
ture to approach as nearly as possible to some certain 
one invisible standard, unknown to us, but known to 
her; — as if this very nature herself, and her whole 

27 



210 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

delegated ministry, had received some such commis- 
sion, as that which Moses, the sacred and moral archi- 
tect received, — see that you build, see that you con- 
struct, see that you make everything, "after the pattern 
which I have shown you on the mount." And it 
would even seem, that we also unwittingly, had recei- 
ved some intimation in our inner mind, of some such 
order having been enjoined, whence are bred those 
instinctive and irrepressible expectations, of finding 
externally and naturally, every where, this most sweet 
and grateful image of unity. But neither is this expec- 
tation disappointed, nor the truth of the sentiment 
impaired, for that we discover this unity set, as it were, 
on endless variety ; rather is our delight thereby enhan- 
ced, and the sentiment itself extended and enlarged. It 
is now unity embosomed in infinity, it is the One and 
the Infinite, and it is the symbol in nature of that car- 
dinal truth of our most holy religion, which I dare only 
to express here in its own native phraseology, lest other- 

WISe J. SnOUlQL prOiane It, 5 juovoysio); uioo- c wv a; tov xftXsrov ts jtbt^oj 

(John, c. 1, v. 18.) And it is through this unity so 
grounded on variety, that our natural sentiment is gra- 
tified, and at the same time our curiosity awakened; 
we are introduced to familiar ideas, under new forms, 
to fixed laws, written in a foreign language. Our 
industry is excited, and attracted by that novelty, 
which strikes us at first in the forms of nature; we 
are induced to examine again and again, and by 
such repeated perusals come to understand more per- 
fectly, the spirit of those laws, which are inscribed on 
creation, — the expressions of the Divine wisdom and 
goodness. It is on this account, that the visiting of 
foreign countries is so beneficial to one, who has first 
received the benefits of a wise and liberal education, 
for nature now appearing to the mature and reflecting 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 211 

mind, in a dress altogether new, is questioned in the 
spirit of an enlightened philosophy, — if she he indeed 
the same or different ; and what — and whence — and 
how related ? We might even dare to think that the 
education of man, the regeneration of the human mind, 
was one main end proposed in the curious structure of 
the universe, — this "opus varium, et natura daedala 
rerum ;" and certainly, in nothing could the end be so 
well provided for, as by this institution of new species 
and varieties, so remarkable in visiting different pro- 
vinces, by which the mind is constantly incited to 
inquiry ; while at the same time these species are never 
so capricious in their deviations, so remote from the 
generic standards, as to defeat all our endeavors to 
ascertain their analogies, and identify that unity, which 
we expect every where to find ; there is even in their 
most devious wanderings, as it were, a tendency to 
return to some ideal or rather natural model, which 
seems to exert an influence over them all, and to hold 
them in unison. It is still the same sweet melody 
which is poured forth from the harp of nature, but the 
local variations are innumerable, and the harmony and 
compass, as it were, without bounds. It is certainly a 
remarkable circumstance, in such instances, that unity 
so far from being effaced or obliterated, by the intro- 
duction of such natural and permanent varieties, is 
only rendered thereby more conspicuous, and becomes 
a fixed object to the understanding. 

But of this unity, set on variety, which is that char- 
acter of it, which nature herself employs, the instances 
are every where, and around. Take that which em- 
braces all others, — the earth itself. How finely do all 
its parts consent into one, while the law of gravitation 
which binds them, is itself that universal note of har- 
mony, while the form of the whole, and the even 



212 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

motion on its axis, speak a similar language, — that 
immense variety, and that sometimes apparent strife, 
which prevails on its bosom, and seems to disturb the 
tranquillity of nature in its form and its motion, vanish 
and disappear to enhance our conception of its gran- 
deur. But to turn our eye from the whole on the 
parts, or rather the departments of nature, we here 
again meet with the same interesting characteristics. 
What is the mineral kingdom? — its unity is not merely 
an abstraction of philosophy, adopted for the conveni- 
ence of classification, but an actual truth and distinc- 
tion ; — but it is variety that forms this body and sub- 
stance of unity. The like remark is readily applied to 
the vegetation of nature, — and all its classifications, and 
orders, for these are fixed in creation, and although 
sometimes mimicked and obscured by artificial arrange- 
ments, nevertheless the variousness of nature has its 
own landmarks here, in which, and by which, and 
from which, this sacred and mystic unity, stands out 
justly and beautifully defined. And why after this 
need I mention the animal kingdom?— I pass it, to fix 
your attention on another, the human kingdom, — on 
man. And here at last as the unity is the most perfect, 
(for it is the image of the essential unity,) so is the 
variousness the most perfect also. And as the unity is 
natural, 1 mean a part of the original constitution of 
nature, and not the product of successive circumstances, 
so must also the typical variousness be so considered ; it 
also has arisen with nature and is cotemporaneous with 
her, being, as it were, the ground and constituent of 
the former, the first in fact, although not the first in 
end. Without a natural variety of men, I mean dis- 
tinct races, the natural unity could receive no illustra- 
tion or distinction. But as the unity itself is not 
considered sporadic, or the product of physical circum- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 213 

stances, so neither ought the variety to be so considered ; 
and to maintain therefore that these distinctions of 
natural and stable races, are to be accounted for on cer- 
tain supposed inferences of climate, and other external 
contingencies, is a species of reasoning that would 
quickly land us in absurdity ; for if some certain per- 
manent distinctions are to be ascribed to such influen- 
ces, why not all ? If the climate or some other extra- 
neous causes, have made the Negroes black, given them 
thick lips, and woolly hair, then some such causes of a 
contrary action, but of the same external features, must 
have made the Europeans white, given them thin lips, 
and adorned their heads with flowing locks of graceful 
hair. And neither is the action of such causes to be 
supposed to stop here; for if climate can thus modify 
lips, and blanch, and blacken skins, it might also have 
made them originally, and so at last not only the modi- 
fications of man, but the entire man might be declared 
the pure creature of circumstances, endowed with the 
prerogatives of creation. Such is the absurdity of this 
mode of reasoning. And we can only escape from it, 
by deciding at once, that the variety of races as well as 
their unity, being both ingenerate and fixed, are also 
both original. 

The reasonings of mankind upon this subject, are 
indeed exceedingly vague. The human race, say they, 
is one, and here they are right; but instead of looking 
for that one in the whole, — a real unity, such as 
nature has made, and not man fancied, — they seek for 
it in some one certain type which they consider pre- 
eminent. The consequence of this has been an amu- 
sing display of vanity, for the philosophers, being for 
the most part of the white race, have never hesitated to 
select this as their type, the pattern card, as it were, 
after which all others were to be formed ; — but some, 



214 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

— no doubt from their own fault, — have been hit off 
less perfectly; — and one family, in particular, the 
Negro, having straggled off from the rest, within the 
peninsula of Africa, has incurred the penalty of an 
error, and been branded with thick lips and black skin, 
whereas "the first man," who was no doubt a Cauca- 
sian, was white, and had lips and hair, very much 
resembling our own, only more graceful and beautiful. 
You will observe, that philosophers here labor under 
the same sort of delusion in regard to the fact of the 
real unity of the human family, to which I had occa- 
sion to refer when speaking on the unity of human 
language ; that unity is enthroned in the Hebrew lan- 
guage, according to the popular apprehension, or in 
some other oriental dialect, now extinct, which is 
believed to have been universal, before the tower of 
Babel was attempted to be built; so much do men 
degrade by their absurd speculations the most sacred 
and beautiful truths. But as it has been shown, that 
the unity of human speech, did not depend on the use 
of any one dialect, but on that consent of minds, which 
is the result of the submission of the understanding to 
the Creator of the universe, when all are impelled for- 
wards to one gaol ; so now the true unity of the human 
race itself, is not to be sought for, or to be supposed to 
be represented, in any one extinct or living variety, but 
rather in that harmony of all the parts, which we may 
believe once to have existed, and still to be possible. If 
then we would see a true representation of that unity, 
so delightful to the imagination, we must think of all 
the various tribes of men, and divesting them of all 
those deformities and ugly features, which foul and 
beastly passions have left imprinted upon them, imagine 
all their latent capabilities of lovely and manly expres- 
sion developed to the utmost degree, and combined in 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 215 

a single pair, fresh from the Creator's hands, and his 
pure stamp upon their souls : — in such personages of 
the imagination, we might see depicted some faint idea 
of the unity of the human family; — hut would the 
dark ground, would the olive, would the red, would 
white be wanting? What a combination of perfections 
must be imagined in the synopsis of this wide spread 
family of mankind. Perhaps, if we could regard the 
whole human family now, as with the eye of a superior 
intelligence, we should see them as one man, although 
deformed, shorn of their loveliness, and of their once 
sinless majesty ; and no longer such as they were once 
beheld in that happy mystic pair, which the vision of 
Moses saw as he looked backward on the birth of time, 
and the origin of mankind, under the illumination of 
heavenly light. It was then he spoke of the first pair, 
and of the first language ; but how incapable are we to 
conceive what he beheld, confined to the narrow views 
of science, who cannot even think of a language, unless 
it resemble our own conventional dialects, nor of a first 
pair, until we have ascertained the longitude and lati- 
tude of their early residence, and discovered the type, 
or native race, of which they wore the resemblance. 

But let us bear more closely on our subject ; it will 
be seen then, from our observations in the last lecture, 
as well as the tenor of our present remarks, that we 
recognize a unity in the human race, but at the same 
time a unity constituted on varieties, and recognizable 
in them, — in them altogether, and not in any single 
family merely, or natural race of men. For so far 
from considering any one race as the beau ideal of 
nature, and all the rest as deviations from it, I judge it 
more safe, as well as more rational, to consider the 
beau ideal as entirely eclipsed, by sin and evil, or like 
the prophet Elisha carried up into heaven, and all the 



216 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

present existing races of men deviations, — disjointed 
and separated materials of one immense edifice of hu- 
manity, which, when compacted and put together 
justly, was indeed a fair and beautiful sight to look 
upon, a more glorious 'temple than sun has ever since 
shone on, but now a heap of ruins, on which however 
scattered and confused, we may still trace the emblems 
of a great design, and cheered by the promises of reve- 
lation, we can still hope for an entire restoration of the 
original. We mentioned in our lecture, on the evi- 
dence of geology, that our modern continents are con- 
structed out of the ruins of those which have before 
existed, and that their origin is but recent, compared 
with the age of the earth; we might make a similar 
observation in regard to the human race itself; the 
present families of mankind are but the wrecks and 
ruins of men, and the period of their partial recovery 
exceedingly recent : they have but just entered, so to 
speak, on their new career, and having collected a few 
wrecks of their former fortune, the remnants of original 
truths, are attempting to recover their former state. 

It is from not sufficiently attending to these facts, I 
mean the comparatively recent origin of our present 
civilization, and the actually incipient stage of the 
modern human race, that we are sometimes led to 
indulge in the most gloomy forebodings respecting the 
ultimate fate of very large portions of mankind. So far 
back as our own history goes, we find an evident pro- 
gress in the Caucasian race, while on the contrary the 
Negro appears to us to have been stationary ; but we 
ought to reflect, that there may be a progress, although 
we cannot trace it,— that the moral distance between 
the two races may be so great that their proper move- 
ments are insensible to each other, — as certain motions 
among the fixed stars are said to be such as to become 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 217 

hardly appreciable after thousands of years, on account 
of the vastness of that interval which separates them 
from us, while even millions may be necessary at 
last to ascertain the actual periods of their revolution. 
At all events, the world is evidently yet too young, 
from those appearances of progress which at present 
strike us, to undertake to determine before hand the 
relative destiny of the respective races of mankind. 
And it may also be part of the design of nature, for 
aught we can tell to the contrary, (as I intimated in 
my last lecture,) that one race in particular, the Cau- 
casian or European, should act as the pioneers of the 
others, and should be endowed accordingly with that 
precocity of understanding and intrepidity of mind, 
necessary to carry such design into effect. 

I alluded in my last lecture to the remarkable fact, 
that the African, or more properly the Negro, should 
have little or no disposition to wander from his native 
seats, — in this respect strongly contrasted with the 
European, even in the most barbarous condition of the 
latter, who always has been, not less than present, 
extremely migratory, and unsettled in his habits and 
propensities. The African stays at home, is contented 
and satisfied, — a feature of natural character, which, 
while associated in our imagination with his present 
degradation, may appear even a part of that very de- 
gradation ; nevertheless, on a more philosophical view, 
and when taken in connection with other native traits 
of mind, would seem to augur a peculiarly gentle and 
beautiful species of civilization, when he shall have 
once taken his rank in the society of perfect men, and 
ennobled races. There is undoubtedly here an appa- 
rently vacant space for him to occupy, and which 
seems by no means adapted to the genius of the Cau- 
casian tribe. These have no real heartfelt admira- 
ls 



£18 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

tion of the milder and gentler aspects of a pure and 
dignified civilization ; they have, on the contrary, a 
natural proneness to admire the bolder features of an 
intellectual refinement, to be acute, precipitate, head- 
strong, resistless in their course, while a high honor, 
an extreme daring, a dauntless spirit of freedom, and a 
love of independence, are among the most specious idola 
irihus which all hearts are disposed to worship; and 
certainly these are some of the grander characteristics 
of human nature, but by no means the chief, or even 
the most endearing ornaments of humanity. All the 
sweeter graces of the Christian religion appear almost 
too tropical, and tender plants, to grow in the soil 
of the Caucasian mind ; they require a character of 
human nature, of which you can see the rude linea- 
ments in the Ethiopian, to be implanted in, and grow 
naturally and beautifully withal. When I read the 
New Testament, and note the sweet and lovely charac- 
ter of the virtues recommended, — that almost female 
tenderness of mind which both the flourishing of them 
and the perfecting of them pre-suppose, — I am im- 
pressed with the conviction that other than the Euro- 
pean race must become the field of their insemination 
ere we can see them in their natural perfection. I am 
far from saying that this race is not naturally capable 
of exhibiting a certain order of the virtues of the 
Christian religion, such namely as tally with their 
character, — a vigor and freedom of soul, a manly sense 
of justice, a rational love of truth, an enlightened faith, 
and a rough, active charity : but all these are but the 
first tier of Christian virtues, and our surly rapid intel- 
lects are hardly susceptible of others: and this there- 
fore leads me to augur, and I think on grounds which 
are good, that a race more feminine and tender-minded 
than the Caucasian is needed to reflect the sweetness 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 219 

and gentle beauty of the Christian religion, — its mys- 
tic, quiet, humble spirit ; for its sterner features, its 
doctrinal majesty, is already represented perfectly in 
the Catholic, and especially the Protestant, Cauca- 
sian ; — but the Catholic representing these more 
gently, and with some mixture of humbler mysticism. 
Believing as we all do, and indeed are sure, that the 
Christian religion is a divine wardrobe of sacred inves- 
ture, containing garments for all kinds and orders of 
wearers, and finding that the rougher and plainer robes 
only, so to speak, have been yet appropriated, and that 
there are others there of much finer texture, and adap- 
ted to sunnier skies, still unusual but graceful, flowing 
and beautiful withal, we cannot escape from the con- 
viction, that there are nations of a different natural 
stamp to come within the pale of sacred civilization, 
and it is not hard to believe that the Ethiopian tribes 
are these. It has been beautifully observed by Dr. 
Wiseman, a learned and excellent Catholic writer, that 
the morality of the Christian religion is not national, 
but universal, that is to say, that it contains within its 
own natural sheath or trunk the living germs of all 
national and sectional morality, the varied types of all 
spiritual and moral perfections, — but is not itself any 
one of these, nor at all local, but divine, and above 
them all. 

It may seem to you strange, that I should seek for 
elucidations of the natural history of man from the cha- 
racteristics of the Christian religion : but yet it is per- 
mitted, it is legitimate illustration. It is as if you were 
to learn that a box of curious tools, of all characters 
and sizes, of every degree of lightness and strength, had 
been sent by a distant and unseen person, but known to 
be wise and benevolent, to a family of many members, 
none of which tools were intended to be useless or 



220 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

unemployed ; — and after the third hour of the day 
you should find that a great many of these were still 
unused and unappropriated, — you must conclude that 
many members of the family had not yet arrived 
to select those which were especially designed for 
them, adapted to their peculiar genius and native 
dexterity, — for the execution of new and beauteous 
arts : either this is so, or the other members of the 
family have mistaken their genius and native bent, and 
taken a wrong direction ; — but yet how can this he ? 
Have the Caucasians mistaken their genius ? — no one 
will say so who reflects on their actions, or those arts, 
emulous of the perfection of nature, which have been 
designed by them. The arts and the sciences of the 
Caucasians are matters of high avail, of inestimable 
price, of indispensable utility, not to the necessities of 
animal life merely, but to the intellectual dignity of 
the soul. No, the Caucasian race have not been ill- 
employed, nor have those tools which they have se- 
lected not been such as were designed and made for 
them by the author of their nature ; the Caucasian race 
have not been ill-employed, although they have not 
exhausted — very far from it — that chest of divine in- 
struments sent down from heaven for the benefit of all 
mankind, of whatever genius or temperament: — no, 
they have not been ill-employed, they who have been 
the inventors of arts, the legislators and benefactors of 
mankind. I call to witness, first, the indefatigable, the 
wonderful Archimedes, whose genius may be said to 
have been the parent of the mechanical arts, and the 
source of those useful inventions, of which a profusion 
has enriched our times : could the Ethiopian have ac- 
complished any thing like this? What mechanical 
inventions ever sprung from his mind ? What dis- 
covery in the mathematics or in the arts was ever made 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 221 

south of Mount Atlas ? Archimedes, let him appear — 
of the Caucasian race — as the representative of sci- 
ence: — Plato next, — in analytic philosophy; — could 
an Ethiopian, with that facility, take human thought in 
pieces, reconstruct it, and show its laws and aptitudes 
as did Plato ? As a founder of the social state, I next 
call Arthur up, the English king, and with him his 
modern compeer, the American Washington, — these 
are specimens of Caucasians, great in building up the 
social state. In science, in analytical philosophy, in 
political abilities, I merely remind you there have been 
such men in the Caucasian tribe ; these are suns ; but 
there are hundreds of others ; the constellation of their 
brilliancies eclipses, throws the poor Ethiopian sadly 
in the shade ; for what can he match with these ? — 
nothing, — of like kind. The Ethiopian soil of men 
yields plants of no such stem or hue as these : and it is 
in vain for us to dissemble, we are justly proud of such 
specimens of men, and we strive and rightly too, to 
imitate some of their great qualities; their character 
and style of virtue best suits our taste ; we cannot be 
untrue, and we ought not, to that province of dignity 
and trust which has been allotted us by nature. But 
still as men, and to pay a debt of justice to other races, 
we ought so far to withdraw ourselves from our own 
standards, as to be able to see other tribes of men, not 
in the light of our standards, which are partial, but in 
the light of the Christian religion, which is oecumenical. 
And this light will indeed equally condemn the vices 
of savages and of civilized men ; but it will at the same 
time show the just proportions and analogies of all 
species of intellectual and moral greatness : and it will 
show the natural ground of a sweetness and serenity of 
moral perception to be more valuable than a vigorous 
capacity for scientific research or political legislation. 



£22 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

But of the Ethiopians and Caucasians, as contrasted, 
let what has heen already said suffice ; of the unnatural 
mixture or amalgamation of the two races 1 shun to 
speak; to the evil effects of it the Copts bear testi- 
mony — " Veneris monumenta nefandae." But on that 
topic also, enough. 

Of the Caucasians themselves, as compared with 
each other, let me next speak. They are essentially 
one race, but exhibit several distinct and permanent 
varieties, which however may so mix, as rather to 
improve, than to deteriorate the general race. 

But of the Caucasians, there are some who show 
more strikingly the peculiar features of the race than 
others, — more of that enterprising spirit, that roving 
disposition, that inquisitiveness of mind, that haughty, 
proud, overbearing character, which in general mark 
the whole. Others again, are more pacific, dreamful 
and mystical, — on whose minds fall the shadows of 
great thoughts, but they are little disposed to analyze 
or examine them, being contented rather to narrate, 
than to investigate, — made rather to reflect, than to 
demonstrate truth. Of the former description are 
those who have pushed farthest westward on the Euro- 
pean continent, — the Britons and those tribes from 
which they have sprung, whether of Germany or Gaul; 
all these are pre-eminently distinguished by a restless, 
inquisitive spirit, spurning fancies and mysticism, and 
believing only in their eyes and ears, protestants by 
nature, and atheists in vice ; such has been their cha- 
racter from the earliest times, and it is durable as their 
hills, and rough as their climate. "The Germans," 
says Caesar, — this is that red-haired, blue-eyed, gigantic 
wild race which afterwards overran the Roman empire, 
— " the Germans," (and this shows their protestant pro- 
pensities even before the Christian era,) " have no regu- 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 223 

lar priests to preside over religion, or to perform sacri- 
fices, esteeming as gods those only which they see, and 
by whose powers they are actually benefited, as for 
instance, the sun, the moon, and Vulcan ; other gods 
they have not even heard of." The account of Tacitus 
is essentially the same, that " they do not confine their 
gods within the walls of temples, or liken them to the 
human form, but hold certain groves sacred, and wor- 
ship that unseen Intelligence which they behold with 
the mind." Such are the mental characteristics of this 
branch of the Caucasian race ; those who stand con- 
trasted with them, and reach the other extreme, are 
the Asiatic part of the family, I mean as respects local 
habitation. These are the mystics of the race, suscep- 
tible to impulses, and apt to retain them ; addicted to 
sense rather than intellectual vision ; preserving entire 
the impressions which have been made upon them, just 
because they have no disposition to analyze them, or to 
resolve them into their original elements. The most 
remarkable tribe of this grand branch of the Caucasian 
race, St. Paul has described graphically in a single 
clause, and contradistinguished them from the Greeks, 
who belonged to an entirely different branch. " The 
Jews," says he, " ask signs, the Greeks seek wisdom." 

IouJaio. (r>)^£.»-«iTS(r<,xai EUijin! a-eqtxv ^txthi (1 lyOr. 1. 22. J 

This demand for miracles, or the wish to behold sen- 
sible representations of abstract principles, rather than 
to see them mentally, fixes at once the natural character, 
as well as that branch generally of the Caucasian race 
to which he was attached. The Greeks had little or 
none of this character, except what they derived from 
their intercourse with Asia ; they had an innate fond- 
ness for abstract speculation, and hence the character of 
their language, adapted most admirably to the expres- 
sion of purely mental relations, and in this respect 



224 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

contrasted strikingly with the Hebrew and other ori- 
ental tongues, which exhibit only the outlines of natu- 
ral objects, — the rude sketches of divine ideas,— rather 
than the finite relations of human thought. This whole 
Caucasian race then, while it possesses a unity of cha- 
racter, as contrasted with other races of men, presents 
at the same time several remarkable and fixed varieties^ 
which give body and harmony to the whole. 

Let us advert to the most remarkable of these. 
Beginning at the most easterly point, and proceeding 
westward, we have first the cradle of the race, for from 
this locality it seems originally to have sprung, — the 
Jews, Persians, and most ancient Egyptians ; these are 
the mystics of the family, your genuine lovers of the 
marvellous, and the most ready always to believe it ; in 
its original, unblemished integrity, a most interesting 
and important part of human character, — bearing the 
same analogy and relation to the other races or varieties 
of men, that childhood does to manhood, that percep- 
tion does to reasoning, that matter of fact bears to mat- 
ter of inference or deduction. This character of people 
receive the most correct impressions of Deity, and of 
those sensible facts and experiences on which all 
rational and spiritual religion must be built, and without 
which as its support, it would be indeed altogether but 
the baseless fabric of a vision. Hence it comes, that the 
notices and reminiscences, and earlier records of all 
these nations, serve the same purposes of indispensable 
reference to other nations more intellectual and philo- 
sophical, which his stock of facts and observations, col- 
lected in infancy, does to the individual, when he has 
arrived at maturity, and devotes himself to the analysis 
of those sentiments and opinions which he has early 
imbibed. Hence also it is, that the foundations of all 
our systems of religion have been laid among that peo- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 225 

pie or their descendants ; among the Arabs, which also 
belong to this class of the Caucasians, sprung up the 
Mahometan faith ; it is only among such people, suffi- 
ciently infantile to be capable of wonder, that such a 
system could have taken root. There is no necessity 
for supposing Mahomet to have been a bad man, or even 
a designing man ; there is no necessity even for sup- 
posing that certain extraordinary and even miraculous 
impressions were not made upon his mind, sufficient, at 
least, to make himself the first convert to his own opin- 
ions ; if we are led to suppose, (and we cannot but do 
so,) that there must be some extraordinary process at 
work in the organization of new species of plants, 
whose types have never before appeared, much more 
may we not rationally conclude, that certain very 
uncommon and mysterious influences must be exerted 
on those singular minds, which, at different periods of 
the world's history, have originated new systems of 
religion and new modes of worship ? Surely these are 
much more momentous every way, and efficacious of 
good or evil, bringing with them " airs from heaven or 
blasts from hell," than any new and original produc- 
tions whatever, whether of plants or animals. New 
religions do not merely affect the surface of nature, add 
to or diminish the number of natural resources, but 
they plough up the very depths of human society, 
change the face of the moral world, alter and remodify 
the soul of man, and proceed so far, as only not to abol- 
ish those original distinctions of genius and race, which 
are alone capable of resisting their power. It is absurd 
then, while we believe that not a new species of an 
insignificant plant or animal can arise without a special 
interposition of creative power, to think that new reli- 
gions are allowed to be engendered, and to be spread 
among mankind, without a certain special exercise of 

29 



226 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

the Providence of God. It may perhaps be said of all 
religions, that in their original infantile state, they con- 
tain more truth than error, more good than evil, more 
beauty than deformity; and that the truth, and the 
good, and the beauty are from God, and the error, evil 
and deformity from men, but permitted for the sake of 
human freedom, and on account of the existing state of 
mankind. What then ? is it absurd to suppose that the 
Mahometan religion, which embodies the cardinal truth 
of the unity of God, and inculcates the laws of moral 
charity, may have been in a certain sense permitted by 
God ; and that certain extraordinary impressions may 
have been made on the mind of Mahomet, sufficient to 
give a vivid coloring and natural reality to that system 
of superstition of which he was the author, just as 
some mystic power was exerted, whensoever a new spe- 
cies of animals first sprung up, and not less, although 
for different ends, in the production of the ferocious 
and cruel, than of the mild and peaceful tribes. But 
whether or not you will admit the reasonableness of 
this supposition, or whether you will choose rather to 
suppose that all such concoctions of new species of 
superstition are matters of sheer accident or political 
contrivance, I shall not stop to argue the question, — it 
may again come up in some future lecture; I introduce 
it now merely to show that Asia is the land, and this 
portion of the Caucasian race, the people where, and 
among whom such forms of delusion or of religion, 
(call them which you will,) have always most readily 
sprung up, and taken deep root. 1 speak not now of 
different systems of the same essential faith : the mould- 
ing of these, the Greeks, the Italians, the Germans, the 
English, are fully adequate to ; but I speak of the actual 
birth of entirely new religions, — the original insemina- 
tion of the plant, not the germinations merely, or the 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 227 

expansions of its leaves and buds. It appears that this 
great law of nature holds here also, as in all other infe- 
rior natural productions, that there is a natural centre 
whence religions originate, as well as appointed locali- 
ties, from which the original races of animals appear 
to have taken their rise. And there is an appropriate 
soil of the human mind, as well as an appropriate age, 
in which religions first appear, under the eye and sove- 
reign permission of Him, who turns them all to good. 
In Arabia accordingly, we find (A. D. 622,) a religion 
spring up, which has well nigh covered the east, and 
even at one time made fearful inroads on Europe ; it 
was the religion of war and polygamy, while the 
Christian religion on the other hand, was designed to 
be the religion of peace and monogamy, or true mar- 
riage. The latter expressed, and does express, the full 
mind of God, and no part of it is of permission, merely, 
but the whole of Divine intention and design ; and no 
human misdeeds are allowed to modify or tarnish its 
beauty ; like the rays of the sun, it can receive contam- 
ination from nothing, but withdraws itself from mortal 
contact, within the sheath of its own native purity. 
But with respect to the former, while it had borrowed 
features stamped upon it, (I believe from Divine inten- 
tion, in order that in its devastating career, it might 
still effect good,) yet at the same time, its body and its 
coloring were exclusively of Asia, not of heaven or 
angelic ; and by its sensual allurements it was permit- 
ted to bind human minds, — already degraded, — to its 
sway ; and this binding may have raised them, — it cer- 
tainly has in some degree at least, — in the scale of 
humanity. Arabia, Persia, then, are native homes of 
religion, superstition, delusion, — call it what you will. 
What shall we say of Egypt, also the ancient abode of 
the mystic Caucasian? — here too, there prevailed an 



228 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

original form of superstition ; and Herodotus has 
clearly shown us, that from this quarter the Greeks 
derived their most numerous deities, and modes of wor- 
ship. Egypt originated, but Greece improved, for the 
Greeks were not of the class of natural mystics ; — we 
recur to the brief but graphic delineation of Paul, — 
" the Jews," — and he might have added the Egyptians, 
— " ask signs, the Greeks seek wisdom." Accordingly 
we find the Greeks improve every form of superstition 
imported among them from the east, or from Egypt, 
but they do not originate, — they beautify, they adorn, 
but they do not cast their gods. Superstition was 
imported into Greece, in the state of blooms or pigs, 
but they soon shaped and hammered it into varied 
forms of beauty and elegance. The Greeks were 
characterized by a pure fancy, a just delicacy of feel- 
ing, as well as great acuteness and subtilty of under- 
standing; hence the superstitions of the nations, when 
retouched by their poets, or modeled by their painters 
and sculptors, became a new thing, not indeed radically, 
but from those moral and lovely features of true and 
elegant proportions, which were now impressed upon 
them. How strikingly contrasted are the rude and 
grotesque images of Egyptian sculpture, of which you 
have seen the representations, with the elegant de- 
signs of Grecian art and invention. The wildest super- 
stition in their hands became beauty and instruction ; 
and Minerva indeed was no longer an idol, an Egyptian 
phantasy, but the very emblem of divine intelligence. 
The contrast between these two nations in their modes 
of conception, shows two distinct natural varieties of 
men in the Caucasian race, the one mystical, or rather 
superstitious, the other elegantly ingenious, and beauti- 
fully fanciful. 
, Of that other portion of mystics, the Jews, I shall 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 229 

say but little, as I have before spoken of them in a 

former lecture :— only you are aware how difficult it 

was to preserve among them the pure original forms of 

the revealed truth. Although our religion in its early 

origin among them, was altogether included in ritual 

forms, and thus was adapted to win their veneration, 

and they perhaps, from their love of the visible and 

sensible in all things, from their innate hankering after 

"signs," were of all people best fitted to guard and 

preserve this divine germ of heaven in its infantile and 

undeveloped state, while wrapped in an investment of 

rites and facts ; yet it seems with great difficulty that 

they could be preserved from paying it an idolatrous 

veneration. Not only the soul, but the body of our 

religion is divine ; there is no part of it artificial in its 

original institution,- and the same providential care, 

which has adorned the human body even with external 

beauty, produced that fine contour of the limbs, those 

noble lineaments of countenance, and this majestic 

head, decorated with comely locks, has also furnished 

in its earliest origin, that embryo faith with the most 

perfect envelope of appropriate and expressive rites. 

To retain these in their perfection and integrity, was 

the task assigned to the Jew, which although peculiarly 

adapted to his genius, he did not always execute with 

fidelity, and the rites were sometimes in danger of 

being corrupted, but still miraculously saved. When 

our religion passed from the custody of the Jew to the 

keeping of the Greek and the southern nations of 

Europe, it is instructive to mark the new dangers to 

which it was exposed, and this chiefly because the facts 

illustrate the distinctive characters of these people from 

those of the oriental Caucasians. The pure religion of 

heaven, unlike the superstitions of Egypt, when it 

passed into Greece, required no aid from the polish and 



230 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

refinement of that nation; — the touch even of their 
perfect fancy could add nothing to its eternal beauty, 
as the subtilty of their understanding could in no way 
enhance the value or usefulness of its truths. The 
divine injunction in regard to it, was as imperative on 
their elegant artists, as on the less gifted Hebrews, — 
"lift not a tool upon it." Art could no more add per- 
fection to the Christian religion, than it could improve 
the model of the human body, or of a single natural 
form, by substituting new parts or introducing new 
proportions : inasmuch as the proper task of art in such 
cases is faithfully to imitate, not to alter the divine 
type. But nevertheless the Grecian genius was not 
satisfied with this ; when the Christian religion was first 
introduced to their attention, they fixed upon it with 
the whole force of their natural subtilty ; the arts had 
already declined, so that Christianity sustained little 
injury from their emulation; but the philosophical, 
analytical acumen of the Greeks, retained all its natural 
vigor, or seemed even unnaturally increased by the loss 
of their liberties, and the want of external excitement ; 
hence arose that morbid philosophy, that excessive 
desire to define and expound the most mysterious 
points of the Christian faith, which characterizes the 
fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries of our era. Here the 
strength and the weakness of the Grecian intellect 
were at once signally displayed; but it was in vain, that 
with all their powers of expression, and the nice dis- 
tinctions of their inimitable language, they endeavored 
to confine within any other forms than its own, that 
original and pure revelation, whose truths never have 
been, and never can be taken by the assault of the 
human intellect alone. They are revealed unto "babes," 
and philosophy cannot compass them ; they are impres- 
sions rather than reasonings, and are reflected better on 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 231 

the tranquil mind, than on the excited understanding. 
They are the elements, rather than the results of rea- 
soning, but the Greeks did not so consider them, and 
they were disposed to receive them, rather as the 
deductions of philosophy than the terms of a revelation. 
It shows the character of the Greek mind very remark- 
ably, and a superiority in the province of analytical 
investigation, that most of the terms of theological 
science, and the greater number of its technical dis- 
tinctions, have been borrowed from the Greeks, and 
retained even in modern times. I say nothing of 
the intrinsic value of most of these distinctions; at 
present, fortunately for the quiet of mankind, they do 
not rate very high; — I speak only of that peculiar 
genius and character of mind, in which they originate, 
— it is Greek. What Englishman or American would 
ever have adopted any such verbal distinctions as the 
following, unless on the suggestion and authority of 
some mind very different from his own ? — " there are 
three persons in the Godhead, the same in substance, 
equal in power and glory," — this is pure Greek. 
Nothing can be a clearer proof of the real divinity of 
the Christian religion, than that it should have risen 
triumphant over all these strenuous, but vain attempts, 
of philosophy to fasten it down to words and forms and 
definitions, that it should still retain its own inherent 
beauty, notwithstanding all the contaminating influ- 
ences, with which it has come in contact; that it should 
survive uninjured and unsoiled, at first the sensual 
superstitions of Asia, and at last the insinuating philo- 
sophy of the Greeks, and their admirers in modern 
times, and still exert a fresh and renovating influence 
over all who choose to submit themselves to its sway. 
As you might read the history of the mind of nations, 
and see their character reflected from those improve- 



232 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. 

ments and works of art, with which they have variously 
marked the surface of the earth, and distinguished the 
vast landscapes of nature, so in that divine religion 
which exhibits similar features of immutability, analo- 
gous scenes of wide-spreading beauty, — in that religion, 
I say, as artificially decked with the motley garb, here 
of Greek and Roman philosophy, and there of Catholic 
superstition, or Protestant presumption, — you might read 
the natural characters of the different ages and races of 
men, and see no inaccurate picture of the true history 
of our species, and the varied freaks of the human un- 
derstanding. But have all these labors been useless? 
have they been wrong? — very far from it; it is not for- 
bidden to cultivate the study of the Christian religion, 
and by these attempts to catch its expressions and to 
represent them, the understandings of men are im- 
proved; for it is impossible to contemplate much, a 
divine work, without imbibing somewhat of its spirit, 
and being elevated thereby. 

But let me pass westwardly and finish. I have 
shown you successively the Ethiopian and the Cauca- 
sian races : and as belonging to the last the Arab, and 
Persian, the Egyptian and the Jew, — all these in a 
certain sense mystical and infantile, — the proper sub- 
jects of ritual revelations, devoted to fact and sensible 
signs: they "ask signs, the Greeks seek wisdom." I 
have next shown you the Greeks, and " the wisdom" 
of their philosophy, often travesting, sometimes tarnish- 
ing the Christian religion : the Germans, the Gauls, the 
Britons 1 have also referred to ; — to all these nations 
there belongs a more practical and utilitarian under- 
standing, than did distinguish either the Greek or the 
Oriental ; — they are intellectual almost to a fault, but 
their intelligence falls not so much into subtilty, as 
what they themselves call very significantly common 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 233 

sense. They are an exceedingly imperfect race, but 
that love of domination, which distinguishes them so 
remarkably as individuals, and chiefly the Britons and 
their descendants, has at last engendered its own cure, 
in the production and institution of popular govern- 
ment, by which beautiful artifice the innate vanity of 
each individual, — the desire of personal consequence 
can be gratified by the reflection, that he is himself "a 
pillar of state," — a unit of the sovereign people. That 
this system of equal rights and noble liberty has not 
arisen from a true grandeur of soul, or the heaven-born 
principle of pure philanthropy, is visible from the fact, 
that that portion of the race, which have pushed far- 
thest west, seemed sufficiently disposed, at least the 
majority, to rivet for ever the chains of servitude (if 
God interpose not,) on an innocent and ill-treated por- 
tion of the Ethiopian family, whose long and faithful 
services to their masters ought surely now to begin to 
gain for them a milder and a better fate. But this 
Western race of Caucasians are entitled to a separate 
lecture, which, " Deo favente," shall be our next. 



30 



LECTURE THE NINTH; 



ON THE 



CHARACTER OF THE ANCIENT GERMANS. 



Difficulty of delineating the natural history of man from the progression and 
mutability of his character. — What is his natural state, and the final cause of 
his progression? — The change produced since the Christian era; the effect of 
the Christian religion — The Caucasian race migratory ; composed of many 
different nations, and these again of distinct tribes. — The Britons and ancient 
Germans as described by Tacitus and Caesar ; respect of the latter for their 
women ; powers of divination ascribed to them ; their share in public affairs. 
— The mutual concern of both sexes for the welfare of the nation a token of 
their natural soundness of mind. — Heroism of the German women ; their 
regard for the institution of marriage. — Chivalry, considered as an affecta- 
tion in after times, of what was formerly a just and natural sentiment. — 
Their respect for women among the Western tribes supposed to be the chief 
cause of their ready admission of the Christian religion. — Remarkable fact, 
that this religion should have arisen in one quarter of the globe, and its 
most willing adherents be found in another. — Obscurity of its origin; extent 
of its influence. — Peculiar adaptation of the Western nations for its recep- 
tion. — Elements of the British race. — Conclusion. 

.There are numerous problems which the natural 
history of man proposes for solution, and if I should 
do nothing more than bring several of these before 
you for individual reflection, I shall not have exerted 
myself in vain in the composition of these lectures. It 
is the love and investigation of truth, even more per- 
haps than its attainment, which improves and refines 
the human soul. None hut the Infinite himself is in 
possession of absolute truth, for He is " the Truth,"— 



236 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

but he permits his creatures at this point and the other, 
of their terrestrial existence, to obtain glimpses of that 
ineffable light which is the delight of all creation, I 
mean the essential truth. More is not necessary for 
us, or more would be granted. 

But the great difficulty, and still not an unpleasant 
one, which presents itself to us in delineating the natu- 
ral history of man is this, that we never can be said to 
have, or to be capable of having, the whole of that 
natural history before us. And herein lies a most 
striking peculiarity of the subject itself, which is 
this, — and it is also an important item of this very 
history, — that while any one tribe, or class, or species 
of animals have certain permanent and abiding in- 
stincts which are the laws of their being, and deter- 
mine with certainty all their modes of action, their 
mimic arts, and, so to call it, their domestic economy, 
— their modes of rearing their young, constructing 
their habitation, securing their food, or providing for 
their defence, and so consequently render the accom- 
plishment of their natural history a matter of great 
facility, as well as possible accuracy, — and the historian 
or naturalist who recounts it is in little danger of hav- 
ing his delineations or descriptions falsified by new 
freaks of nature among the class or tribe, — or anti- 
quated by fresh and additional improvements on the 
modes of these instincts; — it is all the contrary in 
writing the natural history of man ; — the phases even 
of his corporeal and physical being are so varied and 
multiplied, while each has an equal claim to "natu- 
ral," that is, to a fixed and designed consistency with 
his nature, that it is impossible to catch all which 
have been exhibited, — and who, after all is done, can 
be sure that there are not still certain undeveloped 
powers and faculties in the human being which may 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 237 

give altogether a new face to his history, and render 
the most graphic and just, descriptions hitherto utterly 
inadequate and at fault, — antiquated histories which 
are no longer true to the more recent exhibitions 
of his nature. It is true, some might be disposed 
to call those new phenomena of human nature which 
every now and then confound or disturb the theories 
and speculations of the philosopher, artificial or un- 
natural displays of character arising out of conven- 
tional institutions ; but this again is absurd, for what 
is the properly natural state of man, that is to say, 
that state which is as perfectly consistent and in har- 
mony with the design and end of his creation as we 
suppose the fixed instincts and unlearned arts of the 
animals to be with theirs? Shall we say that it is 
that wherein man roves a savage in the woods, igno- 
rant of the arts and refinements of civilization ? If 
this is to be called the natural state of man, with the 
same propriety of language, that such is called the 
natural state of the lion, the tiger, or the buffalo, that 
is, because it seems indisputable that all the laws of 
their natures are here most perfectly developed and 
conspicuous, it will remain with us to prove that the 
arts of civilization do not perfect man, and are rather 
in contradiction to his nature than in favor of it. But 
this is evidently ridiculous, and so consequently we are 
obliged to think according to all reason and analogy that 
it is just as natural in man, that he should invent and 
exercise the art of spinning and weaving, or even the 
art of writing or of printing, — or other arts yet undis- 
covered, and of which we have at present no idea, — as 
that any one tribe of animals should exercise from age 
to age the unvarying functions of their instincts, — that 
the birds should never improve upon their arts of nest- 
building, nor the bees upon the architecture and ma- 



£38 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

soniy of their hives. But all these instinctive natural 
arts are easily described, and when once described re- 
main for ever a true copy of nature ; but those other 
arts of man, although no less natural for man to disco- 
ver or to practise, — who can recount these ? or when 
will such history of his inventions or the inventor be 
such as to be considered perfect ? 

But I will here start a question, and leave it for you 
to solve, — you may take a week or two, — what is the 
final cause of this progression in the human species ? — 
what is the reason that all the terrestrial animals are so 
perfected in their instincts, that the laws of their being 
are so deeply written upon their nature, so certain and 
infallible, as not to disappoint them, or lead them 
wrong ; and that the laws designed for man, evidently 
of a higher order, seem notwithstanding less perfectly 
stamped on his soul, so that although his ends are so 
much nobler than theirs, he yet does less successfully 
reach them, and is continually committing blunders, in 
the ardor of his pursuit, either from defect of light 
poured upon his mind from those laws, or defect of 
inclination, willingly and steadily to follow them. It 
would appear consequently, that while man on the 
whole bears upon his mind the traces and vestiges of 
the most sublime and elevated destiny, he was yet the 
most unfinished work of creation. And when you 
view him in the midst of creation, surrounded by all 
the other works of the Creator, he seems to command 
the loftiest position, and to be the very central point 
of the whole design, for toward him all other objects 
and orders of creation seem to tend, as with lines 
directed to a centre ; but yet this main building, this 
temple of nature, on whose account all the other 
outworks have been constructed and designed, is still 
the most unfinished, although the noblest of them all. 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 239 

What is the cause of this ? how is it to be explained ? 
is it indeed a fact that nature has here left her chef 
d'oeuvre imperfect, or is it a work only now in progress 
— a newer, and again a newer design, and closing per- 
fection and beauty being still added, as age succeeds 
age, as epoch rises out of epoch? and may this be the 
reason we find it so hard to present a true picture of 
the natural history of man, that to this august and ven- 
erable temple, newer wings and ornaments are con- 
stantly being added in the lapse of generations? Should 
this be so, and whether it be or not, I leave to your 
judgment ; then we have taken a noble subject in hand, 
when we have undertaken to write the natural history 
of man ; for no doubt ere twenty years more have 
elapsed, that natural history will be emblazoned with 
some new and original ideas and designs of nature, some 
interesting tracery of her chisel, or some additional 
architrave, to crown and illustrate this work, this tem- 
ple of the universe. 

And indeed, without attempting to solve this enigma, 
— the greatness of the design, and the unfinished state 
of the structure of this work, which we name man, — 
we may be permitted to point constantly to the fact. 
And to see this fact the more strikingly, and that cha- 
racter of progress and change, which peculiarly belongs 
to, and distinguishes man, it is only necessary to con- 
trast his state, as it has existed before, and since the 
Christian era. It is impossible to tell precisely in what 
the change has consisted, but any one who will read 
together, and compare the productions of the human 
mind, before and since that period, will find that there 
has been a change, not only on the surface, but in the 
vital constitution of society; it has affected, it has 
altered nature itself in man ; to resume our first simile, 



240 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

this central temple of creation has received a new story 
on the old foundation, — or rather, like enchantment, 
the whole seems new. The Christian religion is not a 
social, artificial system of mere opinions or principles, 
hut wears upon it all the marks and insignia of a true 
creation ; it was a spiritual and moral genesis : " in the 
beginning was the word, and the word was God." The 
tenor of this lecture does not permit me to dwell on 
this suggestion, but I note it only in passing, that the 
event of the Christian religion is the most remarkable 
fact in the natural history of man, and is a part of it, 
for it had a tendency essentially to change that nature, 
so that it became something new. 

But what was the condition of the present civilized 
nations of Europe one thousand eight hundred and 
forty years ago ? I know not how better to character- 
ize them, than to say that they were backwoods ; only 
the Indians who lived there were not savages, but such 
as are called barbarians, — advanced to the state of pas- 
turage, and the first stages of husbandry, and the culti- 
vation of some of the ruder arts, — acquainted with the 
use of the metals, and holding in subjection to their 
service and use the more common domestic animals: 
but war was their employment, and the exploits of phy- 
sical strength and dexterity their chief distinction. I 
speak more particularly of Gaul, Germany and Britain. 
The Romans owned a peculiar civilization, the civili- 
zation of taste, and genius, and honor, not the civiliza- 
tion of moral principle or of pure religion. The wor- 
ship of the gods was separated from morality ; and 
intellect, in general, sought not for new motives to vir- 
tue, but new sources of elegant gratification. The 
principle which characterized all the nations which 
existed at this time, Romans as well as others, was the 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 241 

amor patriae, or the attachment to the tribe or nation. 
This circumstance has not been sufficiently adverted to 
by modern writers, although when properly considered, 
it may serve to soften and alleviate that picture of war 
and violence, which is presented to us in the reading of 
ancient history. The motives which impelled them to 
the performance of such acts, partook of the social 
character, and had on that account a slight admixture 
of virtuous feeling, sufficient to irradiate although not 
to beautify the dark features of their history. They 
killed and plundered, not for themselves, but their tribe. 
And here is the only redeeming trait of their charac- 
ter; in this manner provision was made for keeping 
alive in their minds that seminal principle of all the 
virtues, a regard for the public good, which when 
enlightened by true knowledge, leads at last to the 
most beautiful results of social virtue and refinement. 
In the best times of the Roman commonwealth, it was 
seen in its greatest vigor, and often led to acts of true 
magnanimity ; but at the period of the introduction of 
the Christian religion, it had waned in the hearts of 
the nation, although still the theme of poetical exulta- 
tion : dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. But in 
the western nations of Europe, it still preserved its 
original purity and strength, particularly among the 
ancient Germans, where it was nourished by a series of 
bold achievements, of which indeed the historical 
details have perished, but the noblest monuments 
endure in those social institutions, which have sprung 
up in Europe and America, and whose professed object 
is to secure " the greatest good of the greatest number." 
It is to these, mainly, we are indebted for that heredi- 
tary love of freedom and independence, which has dis- 
tinguished the Anglo-Saxon race, — that natural stock 
of just and manly sentiment, on which the Christian 

31 



242 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

religion has been engrafted, and expanded into a truly 
rational and moral civilization, to open here its 



" choicest bosomed sweets 

Reserved from night, and kept for thee in store." 

With these views I intend in the present lecture to 
show some of the more striking natural features of this 
race, and the relations in which they have stood both 
to the Christian religion itself, and the institutions of 
modern times. By this means, we may be able to see 
more clearly those elements of progress and develop- 
ment, which enter into the composition of human 
nature, and the adaptation of the Christian religion, to 
cherish, and at last to disclose these latent germs of 
humanity. 

In the last lecture we took a rapid view of the diffe- 
rent races of men, more particularly the Caucasian and 
Ethiopian, and of the several classes of the former. 
We noticed a remarkable feature in the Ethiopian race, 
that, for the most part, they should be confined to the 
African peninsula, and should seldom or never have 
shown any desire to wander from that quarter of the 
globe ; — that they have never abandoned this their natu- 
ral home from inclination. Very different is it with 
the Caucasian race ; their propensity to wander, their 
love of emigration, might be remarked as one of the 
peculiar features of their natural character ; they seem 
accordingly to be designed by nature to become ulti- 
mately the universal race,— such is the instinct of emi- 
gration, — the natural love of new location implanted in 
them. We may trace their progress from the central 
regions of Asia, eastward towards China, there to dis- 
turb or to displace the more settled tribes of the great 
Mongolian family, a distinct native race of men, — and 
again northward, covering the barren and inhospitable 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 243 

regions now occupied by the Russian empire, — south- 
ward and westward, there to possess themselves of Ara- 
bia, and here of the most western portion of the ancient 
continent called Europe, — an artificial division of the 
globe, since there is no natural fixed limit to mark it as 
distinct from Asia. This race I showed to be composed 
of nations of different genius, — as the orientals, made 
up of Jews, Egyptians and Arabians, — the Greeks, 
with whom might be ranked the Romans, — and again 
the Germans, with whom also might be classed the 
Gauls and Britons. These classes again differ among 
themselves ; the Greeks and Romans, although nearly 
related, were still very distinct people, as much so, (and 
lines of discrimination were very similar) as are the 
French and British in modern times. Again, the 
ancient Germans and Gauls were distinct from each 
other, as well as from the Britons ; and this, not only 
in their manners and civil institutions, but also in their 
physical form and aspect. The Britons then as now, 
(I mean as found by the Romans,) were composed of 
several distinct races, and presented accordingly a mot- 
ley character, not only in their civil usages, but in their 
physical features and personal appearances. The testi- 
mony of Tacitus on this point is express : " Who first 
inhabited Britain," says he, " whether strangers or those 
sprung from the country, is a matter of great uncer- 
tainty. Their form and aspect are various, and hence 
arises the presumption of the great diversity of their 
origin. Those who inhabit the northern part of the 
island, called Caledonia, have red hair and large limbs, 
and show evident indications of a German origin. The 
Silures, the inhabitants of South Wales, have dark com- 
plexions, and for the most part curled locks, and these 
characteristics, united with the circumstance of their 
having occupied the shores opposite to Spain, would 



244 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

indicate that the Iberians had anciently crossed over, 
and possessed themselves of the country. Those on 
the other hand, who are opposite to Gaul, resemble the 
natives of that country, and speak the same language : 
you detect also the same sacred rites, the same forms of 
superstition : they discover moreover the same rash and 
impetuous valor in attacking their enemies, and the 
same want of resolution in maintaining their ground ; 
but however the Britons display much more ferocity in 
their wars, probably because they have not been sub- 
dued or softened as yet, by the arts of Roman civiliza- 
tion. For at one time also the Gauls were a much 
more valiant people than they are at present; they lost 
their valor at the same time with their freedom, — a fate 
which has also lately befallen a part of the Britons, but 
the rest still retain their ancient ferocity." Such is the 
picture furnished by Tacitus, who wrote about A. D. 
90. And the hints gathered from his writings, together 
with notices which are found interspersed in the Com- 
mentaries of Caesar, are nearly all the authentic history 
we have of these nations up to this period. From these 
accounts, however, we are enabled to form^a very good 
idea of their character, and can see the rude formations 
of those distinct and peculiar nations, which have 
arisen from them. 

But of all these tribes, the most peculiar, and in all 
respects the most like itself, was that of the ancient 
Germans : these are not to be considered as the original 
stock of the modern races of men, who at present 
occupy Germany, — and probably came from regions 
more northern, and settled the lands which the ancient 
Germans from time to time abandoned, in their capri- 
cious and hasty emigrations. For they appear to have 
possessed hardly any local attachment to the soil, but 
were always ready on a moment's warning, at the 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 245 

instance of the slightest caprice, or the least prospect of 
advantage, to change their settlements, and occupy new 
countries, — which they were again prepared, and for 
no better reasons as speedily to abandon. Indeed it 
appears to have been a part of their national policy, 
entirely to detach the affections of their tribe from all 
local or sectional partialities. Caesar tells us of the 
Suevi, that they possessed a hundred cantons, from 
each of which they drew yearly a thousand warriors, 
and that an equal number remained at home to culti- 
vate the land, who next year took their turn in the 
war ; that no one among them possessed any property 
of his own in the land, and that they never remained 
longer than a year in one place ; that they lived in a 
great measure on the produce of their flocks and herds, 
and when not engaged in war, were employed in hunt- 
ing, — which kind of life rendered them exceedingly 
robust and vigorous ; and that the children being accus- 
tomed to no restraints of education, and no opposition 
to their inclinations, were allowed to acquire, in the ac- 
tive exercise of the chase, or the frequent emigrations 
of the nation, that natural hardihood of body, and fero- 
city of mind, which was not less visible in the gigantic 
stature, than in the savage aspect, which characterized 
the entire nation, — contemplated in this point of view 
merely, we might be very apt to regard them in the 
light of simple irreclaimable barbarians. 

But there are other aspects of the character presented 
to us by Caesar, which enable us to see, that even these 
savage forms must have contained the germs of several 
noble virtues. At first we might judge them to be but 
little in advance of our Indian, but farther attention 
shows them to have been a very superior order of men. 
As contrasted with the aborigines of this country, they 
showed uncommon powers of self-denial, on those 



246 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

points, where the virtues of barbarians seem always 
most liable to temptation, and most easily discredited. 
Caesar declares that they permitted traffickers to come 
among them, not to purchase their wares, but to sell 
them the booty they had taken in war ; and that they 
prohibited by the severest ordinances, wine from being 
brought into their country, because they considered 
that their valor would be diminished by the use of this 
luxury, and the nation rendered effeminate. Here was 
an exercise of self-denial, undoubtedly, which cannot 
fail to raise them in our estimation, when we know 
how easy the virtue of the noblest barbarian is to be 
sapped, and finally overthrown by the appetite for this 
species of indulgence. 

In another respect also their natural character stands 
forth, in a most conspicuous and advantageous light, as 
contrasted with that of most barbarians. Not only 
Tacitus, but even Caesar has testified to the respect and 
veneration in which they held their women, and to the 
noble virtues of continence by which their youth were 
distinguished. The testimony of Tacitus on this sub- 
ject, although remarkably explicit, I have been some- 
times disposed to discredit, suspecting that he might be 
inclined to exaggerate the virtues of barbarians on this 
point, — to rebuke by the striking contrast the abomi- 
nable and shocking licentiousness, which in his time 
began to prevail at Rome, and to corrupt and destroy 
the very vitals of the empire. For when the natural 
purity of these principles of our nature begins to be 
corrupted, and when the corruption is even made a 
subject of jest, and a topic of light allusion, not only is 
all security for the manly character of the individual 
lost, but the way is prepared for the ultimate degrada- 
tion of the entire nation. Aware therefore of the stern 
philosophy of Tacitus, and the natural disgust which 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 247 

his great mind must have felt for those scenes of domes- 
tic infidelity, which he daily witnessed at Rome, at the 
very time perhaps, when he was writing his treatise on 
the manners of the Germans, I had thought that he 
might unconsciously to himself have heightened the 
coloring of that affecting picture of barbarian virtue, 
and manly sentiment, which he shows to have existed 
among these ancient German tribes. But on compar- 
ing the testimony of Caesar on the same subject, who 
wrote his Commentaries about forty-five years before 
the Christian era, and finding it to be substantially to 
the same effect, I am disposed to place the firmest reli- 
ance on the statement of Tacitus. For Caesar was one 
of those cool, clear-headed men, so thoroughly devoted 
to politics, war and ambition, that the delicacy of 
moral sentiment can never affect them; so far from 
writing a satire on vice, or recommending the pure and 
exalted virtues, they are intent only how to turn both 
the virtues and vices of men, the weaknesses of the hu- 
man heart, or the excesses of the passions, to the account 
of their own aggrandizement, — and make them the 
stepping stones to their own advancement in power or 
affluence. Caesar was one of this stamp, precisely, a 
polished, elegant writer, of captivating manners, it is 
said, brave on all proper occasions, and the last person 
in the world to be imposed upon by romantic accounts 
of the virtue and honor of barbarians. And yet Caesar 
has given substantially the same account of the Ger- 
mans which Tacitus has done. He had also the oppor- 
tunity of observing their manners, and of becoming 
intimately acquainted with their character, having 
himself been the first Roman general who crossed the 
Rhine and displayed the eagles of Rome in the wild 
forests of Germany. Caesar was a soldier, and could 
not but admire those robust and noble forms and pro- 



248 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

portions which distinguished that nation, their youth 
especially, and he does not fail to ascribe their superi- 
ority in this respect, to its true cause, — those virtues of 
chastity, temperance, and unbounded freedom, com- 
bined with athletic exercises, for which the whole race 
were pre-eminent.* 

I have taken the more pains to set this matter in a 
clear light, and establish it on solid proof, not only be- 
cause it is an important fact in itself, but because from 
the too prevalent practice of exaggerating the virtues 
of barbarians, even those unquestionably great qualities, 
with which they are endowed, are sometimes liable to 
be discredited. I am not myself, in general, disposed 
to believe in the boasted virtues of barbarians; I am 
even doubtful, if we should apply the name of virtue to 
those natural qualities for which they are most celebra- 
ted, — which are but the signs and prognostications of 
virtue : the virtues are the proper fruits of a sacred 
regard to the grand principles of human and divine 
law, as revealed from heaven, and rationally under- 
stood, and morally loved. Virtue — I mean this natural 
semblance, is not virtue, — really and genuinely such, 
until it is sanctioned by religion, beautified by philoso- 
phy, and recommended and adorned by a warm and 
universal benevolence. This is virtue properly so 
called, but nevertheless, there are certain wild and 
spontaneous, and vigorous shoots of a healthy mind, in 
a rude state of the individual or the nation, which indi- 
cate a congenial and kindred stock, — on which all those 

* " Vita omnis in venationibus, atque in studiis rei militaris consistit : ab parvu- 
lis labori ac duritiae student. Qui diutissime impuberes permanserunt, maximam 
inter suos ferunt laudem : hoc ali staturam, ali vires nervosque confirmari pu- 
tant. Intra annum vero XX feminse notitiam habuisse, in turpissimis habent 
rebus : cujus rei nulla est occultatio, quod et promiscue in fluminibus perluuntur, 
et pellibus aut parvis rhenonum tegumentis utuntur, magna corporis parte 
nuda."— Bel. Gal. lib. vi. 21. 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 249 

virtues, which are the proper fruits of religion and 
civilization can be most advantageously and successfully 
engrafted. And the natural history of man, as a study 
is useful chiefly for this purpose, that we may he able 
to discover the true criteria of the natural capabilities 
of great virtues: — an intimate acquaintance with ge- 
ology and mineralogy, it is said, can enable the adepts 
in those sciences, readily to determine from certain 
indications, altogether superficial, whether or not valu- 
able treasures of coal or other useful products are to be 
found beneath the surface in any given spot; in like 
manner, were we thoroughly skilled in this science 
of human nature, which we are now prosecuting, we 
should be able to declare, even from the external 
tokens of savage or barbarian simplicity, whether or 
not there were the latent powers of great virtues con- 
tained within the race, and what they were. 

The honor and estimation in which their women 
were held by the ancient Germans, — and deservedly 
too, on the score of their own intrinsic virtues, for 
they were noble women, — would be the clearest indi- 
cation to a philosopher skilled in this science, that the 
nation was sound at the core, and however barbarous 
in the popular sense of the term, required but the aid 
of favorable circumstances, to exhibit the most pleas- 
ing specimens of every true and manly virtue. But 
let me not be misunderstood ; that regard and venera- 
tion which the ancient Germans entertained for their 
women, was altogether distinct from this sentiment, — 
silly or romantic as you may choose to consider it, 
either really felt, or affected in modern times, — which 
has assumed the name of gallantry, and manifests 
itself in an especial deference for ladies. This is for 
the most part a compound of mere foppery and child- 

32 



250 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

ishness, as unmeaning as it is effeminate, and a proof 
of any thing rather than sincere esteem or affection; 
— it would appear to have arisen from the affectations 
and absurdities of chivalry, and hence to have become 
a fashion in modern times, but a matter in which the 
heart has very little concern. The feelings of the 
Germans were of a very different kind ; their manly 
gallantry (if we must use the term) actually flowed 
from the heart, and was the natural expression of sin- 
cere respect. They appear to have felt a veneration of 
their women as of superior beings, and indeed, imagined 
them to be endowed with a certain sacred character ; 
and several are mentioned as having exercised an extra- 
ordinary influence over the nation. 

I know not how to account for this, otherwise than 
from the fact that their women, taking a public part 
in the transactions of the tribes, and more openly 
manifesting their feelings than is customary with men, 
came on that account to attract the more attention, or 
to be considered as supernaturally inspired, — a belief 
which would be readily countenanced by the supersti- 
tion of the age, and the blending together of various 
feelings and emotions ; hence their opinions were in- 
quired on all important occasions, and received with 
great deference and respect. On one occasion, we are 
informed by Caesar, Ariovistus declined a combat, when 
the advantages seemed to be very much on his side. 
The matter attracted the attention of Caesar, and exci- 
ted his curiosity, and on inquiry afterwards, he disco- 
vered that the German matrons had been the cause 
of it, who from their skill in divination, it appears, 
had predicted that the fight would be unfortunate, if 
engaged in before the new moon. Such respect did 
this renowned general pay to the supposed prudence 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 251 

or supernatural powers of his countrywomen, that 
he sacrificed his own judgment in military affairs to 
what he believed to be their superior skill and 
penetration. 

Tacitus' account agrees with this ; — he declares that 
they believed their women to be endowed with certain 
extraordinary gifts of divination, and asked their opi- 
nion on public affairs with the most respectful defer- 
ence. Nor do they appear to have been unworthy of 
these marks of honor and distinction, for they bore 
their full share in all public dangers and difficulties; 
and often, in the heat of fight, when victory seemed 
doubtful, they have turned the fortune of the day, by 
their heroic interposition, appearing suddenly in the 
midst of the affray, and by their cries and entreaties 
encouraging or compelling their countrymen to redou- 
ble their efforts, — to rescue their country from dis- 
grace, and themselves, their children and wives from 
the horrors of captivity. Under such powerful suppli- 
cations the timid have been rendered brave, and the 
sight and example of such earnest advisers restored the 
hopes and courage even of the most desponding hearts. 
Accordingly, it was the custom of the men to exhibit 
first their trophies of victory to their mothers, their sis- 
ters, or their wives ; nor were these too faint-hearted to 
ask to see their honorable wounds, to count the number 
of them, and to extol their valor, according to their 
measure of daring or exposure in the fight. And these 
were the dispensers of renown, at the same time also 
that they were looked upon as the guardians of the 
public weal, — appointed by the gods to watch over the 
sanctity of the household, and to consult for the honor, 
safety, and independence of their tribe. 

You ask me if I consider all this right, and deserving 
of approbation, or that women were here engaged in 



#52 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

their appropriate tasks? I answer yes; it is just as 
right that they should take this interest in the honor of 
their country as the other sex. Of course I do not 
think that women were made for war and battle, and 
neither do I believe that men were ; but since the 
fashion of the times had made it so, and settled it, that 
war was a necessary element of greatness, and that no 
safety was to be procured without it, I argue that it 
shows a healthful state of feeling in other respects, that 
the affections of both sexes were equally enlisted in the 
cause, that there was no division in the house or in the 
state, and that the serious pursuits and objects of the 
one were also the serious pursuits and objects of the 
other — a far better token at least of a natural sound- 
ness of mind, — I say nothing of the moral condition, 
which was not yet developed in the nation, — than the 
mean and detestable habits of the Asiatics, who, having 
reduced their women to slavery, have incurred the 
penalty which they deserved, in being themselves dis- 
mantled of their courage and manhood, — removed 
from all natural incentives and motives to noble or 
generous actions. 

Dux faemina facti, — and perhaps there never was 
any great and illustrious enterprise begun and carried 
through, when this was not actually, although it might 
not be visibly, the case. But what was here done 
openly and without reserve, in an unsophisticated state 
of nature, among the ancient Germans, — that they 
held it no discredit to be impelled forward on danger 
or daring action at the urgency of the more powerful 
although gentler sex, — is still done, although less obvi- 
ously and visibly, in every sound and healthful condi- 
tion of society; in which it will be found that it is 
from this source that the affections of r men are puri- 
fied and so strengthened, — and enabled to endure all 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 253 

those fatigues and exertions which are necessary in 
the accomplishment of any great and useful under- 
taking. 

You will observe that when I speak in commenda- 
tion of the social state of the ancient Germans, I refer 
not to the character of their occupation, but that equal 
and just share which each sex took in it, — which is a 
fair token, I say, if not of a moral yet of a natural 
soundness of mind and disposition, and natural pre- 
cedes moral, as moral precedes spiritual ; and where 
the natural is radically unsound, or not justly balanced, 
there is but little hope for the strength and brilliancy 
afterwards of the other two. But when in this state 
of comparative barbarity, we find that either sex take 
an equal and 'serious interest in those pursuits, what- 
ever they may be, which engage the tribe, it is a 
cheering and certain augury that when the period of a 
true civilization arrives, "the pair" will exist, yet in 
still greater loveliness and perfection, — and at all 
events " the house divided against itself," — the one 
attracted by the frivolous and gay, the other inclined 
towards the serious and important, — will be as rare an 
occurrence in the civilized as it has been in the barba- 
rous state ; and that mutual affection, founded on mu- 
tual respect, will be the distinguishing trait which 
marks the union and felicity of the sexes, — the badge 
of the integrity of the tribe, and the integrity of the 
family. And such signs of true greatness do we find 
in the barbarian Germans, who have been described to 
us by Tacitus and Caesar, and to whose notices of their 
character I here refer you. And if no such signs or 
omens are to be found in any barbarous nation at pre- 
sent, it would show that its future civilization is very 
distant indeed, or even very problematical. Those 
barbarian women were respected and beloved, and 



254 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

showed themselves to he susceptible of the feelings of 
patriotism and magnanimity, not less than the private 
and domestic affections. What a spectacle of beautiful 
sublimity, for the phrase in this instance is not contra- 
dictory, to find the tenderness of womankind thus 
armed with all the courage and intrepidity of hero- 
ism ; — they hesitated not to rush into the midst of the 
fight, and to encourage their countrymen to renew or 
persist in the struggle, and afterwards to count their 
wounds, and to glory in their valor while they 
mourned over their sufferings. Need we be surprised, 
that this nation of men afterwards grew to be the con- 
querors of the world, when their infancy was nursed 
by women of such dignity and grandeur of mind as 
these were, — women whose patriotism and serious 
bent of understanding were fitted to inspire the noblest 
ardor into the bosoms of their children. But so much 
are we accustomed to claim for modern times exclusive 
merit on this point that I may be accused of exaggera- 
tion ; — yet the testimony of history is explicit on the 
subject: and to such a point of romance or of truth 
did they carry the sentiment that, Tacitus informs us, 
among several nations it was reckoned improper to 
contract a second engagement : " one life, one body, 
one husband," was a maxim among them : and as there 
is but one spring-time in the year, so ought there to be 
but one marriage in the life of the individual. 

This may be the extravagance of sentiment, or it 
may have a foundation in nature ; — I believe it has, — 
but at all events this picture of ancient manners has 
always seemed to me the most alluring and beautiful 
of any, except that which Homer has painted in his 
Odyssey: and in many respects there were striking 
resemblances between the ancient Greeks, in the heroic 
ages, and the ancient Germans, as described by Taci- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 255 

tus :-— among both you find the same natural and unex- 
aggerated respect and veneration for the female virtues : 
the description of Nausicad and Arete, in the sixth and 
seventh hooks of the Odyssey, is unparalleled, as a 
painting of female character and manners of the very 
highest kind, and stands finely contrasted with the dis- 
gusting features of Asiatic manners on the one hand, 
and the affectations of chivalry on the other. The 
Greeks, in the earlier ages, knew perfectly where the 
point of natural propriety here lay, and they observed 
it to admiration ; — their respect and esteem was seri- 
ous, rational and dignified, elevating at once themselves 
and their sisters and wives. But a sad reverse of this 
picture is very visible in the Greeks of succeeding ages ; 
they were too vain a people at last to know how to 
appreciate and call forth female worth ; — the men had 
too high a veneration for the acuteness of their own 
understandings to hold in proper respect the practical 
good sense and rapid intuitions of the other sex, — 
which are their natural characteristics, where they 
have been accustomed to be treated with a serious and 
equal regard. 

Among the western tribes, however, when they 
advanced on the south of Europe, in their hostile 
excursions, and at last effected settlements in Gaul and 
Italy, and took the place of the old inhabitants, this 
original sentiment, which I have traced in the nation, 
was not obliterated ; the women continued still to pre- 
vail in the council and in war, and to sway the minds 
of their countrymen to newer views and enterprises. 
And it was this same deep-laid sentiment, which in 
after ages, — a thousand years from the period I have 
been particularly describing, — which gave birth to 
knight-errantry, and all those extravagances of roman- 
tic exploit, which have taken the name of chivalry. 



256 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

This is regarded as a very curious exhibition of man- 
ners, and the true source of that high estimation of the 
female sex, which is claimed for modern times ; but I 
believe this to be a mistake, — and that these were but 
the extravagances, or rather the affectations and absur- 
dities which sprung out of a just and natural senti- 
ment, which had prevailed for ages among this race of 
men, and had exhibited some of its most beautiful and 
interesting features, before either knights or trouba- 
dours were heard of: — the tribes, (these were chiefly 
German,) which in the fifth century of the Christian 
era, overran Gaul and Italy, and at last sacked Rome 
itself, were distinguished by this noble characteristic. 
And it has justly been regarded as the main cause, 
which led them to embrace so readily, as they are 
known to have done, the Christian religion. We know 
not exactly how far women here led the way ; but cer- 
tainly it could be considered no way discreditable, 
either to the faith or the understandings of those rude 
converts from the wilds of Germany, if those same 
women, whom they so highly venerated, and to whose 
admonitions they often lent a willing ear in the affair 
of battles and sieges, were now also the first often to 
incline them to embrace that mode of faith and wor- 
ship, — that divine revelation of pure and invigorating 
truth, which might seem especially designed for a race 
of people, which for a length of ages, had firmly held 
the balances of nature, in rendering equal honor and 
serious deference to both the male and the female of 
the human family. 

So remarkable seems the coincidence of the genius 
of this race of people, and the essential character of 
the Christian religion, that it might not be extravagant 
to say, that they were expressly made for each other. 
A noble, a vigorous race of men had been reared by 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 257 

the equal regard and contribution of both parents in 
those secluded retreats of nature, to be that " wild olive 
tree" of the Gentiles, (to which an inspired writer 
alludes,) on which might be engrafted this true bud 
and germ of heaven, — in consequence of which all its 
wild and spontaneous offspring was to be rendered at 
once fair and beautiful, and replete with a genuine per- 
fection. And although a close examination into the 
history of those times might no doubt discover many 
traits of barbarism, and deeds very remote from the 
true spirit of the Christian religion, — for the moral 
revolution which it occasions in the tone of national 
manners is for the most part slow and imperceptible, 
like those changes so often alluded to which geology 
discloses to us ; — still there can be no doubt there was 
a certain natural congeniality between the temper of 
those barbarians, and the genius of the Christian reli- 
gion, — at least much greater than had been manifested 
hitherto, either in that country, in which it had origi- 
nated, or those other more western regions, into which 
it had already spread. And although we cannot posi- 
tively tell to what extent the female sex here led the 
way, — the female sex, whose understandings are as 
vigorous as those of the other, and on topics of religion 
more discriminating, quick and susceptive of evidence, 
— we are certain that in one conspicuous instance, at 
all events, a female convert, Clotilda, wife of Clovis, 
king of the Visigoths, was the instrument through 
whom her husband was induced to turn his attention 
to the Christian religion, — to embrace the faith ; — who 
afterwards led his nation to adopt the same creed. 

Such conversions, sudden and by the wholesale, 
are not to be accounted, perhaps, the golden fruits 
of the Christian religion : but they show at least this 
much, that the native soil of the minds of this people 

33 



258 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

was not unapt or unpropitious, but that there was a 
natural congeniality, — an inclination towards this reli- 
gion. The captious Greek did not so receive it ; the 
polygamous Asiatic turned instinctively away from it ; 
the haughty Roman looked too high to see it ; but that 
simple progeny of the north, albeit rude and uncouth 
in their manners, and but little schooled in letters or 
philosophy, had yet that aptitude in them, or happy 
disposition of mind, or unsophisticated nature, that 
either Christianity welcomed them, or they welcomed 
Christianity with the greatest affection and cordiality. 
But to what precise combination of causes this may be 
ascribed, I know not : I note it as a remarkable fact in 
the history of man, and consider it as deserving much 
greater attention than it has hitherto received. And 
indeed, that a religion should have been originated in 
one quarter of the globe, and that its most willing 
adherents should have sprung up in another, very 
remote from it, — that among an obscure nation in 
Palestine, inveterately wedded to polygamy, and the 
most addicted to low vices of all people on the earth, 
as appears from their history, (and particularly from 
the example of Solomon, their wisest king,) — that 
among such a people, I say, a religion should have 
begun, and been nursed, through a series of ages, under 
the protection and covering of ceremonies and rites; 
a religion too of all others the most adverse in its spirit 
to that polygamy which the nation hugged, and to that 
narrow and sectarian feeling for which they were 
remarkable, — that such a religion should have arisen 
there, and taken no permanent root, nor could, on ac- 
count of the adverse moral climate,* and yet that a 
nation so remote as this German race which we have 
been describing, should, — unconnected with it appa- 
rently so long, — -be yet found in temper, and genius, 



NATURAL, HISTORY OP MAN. 259 

and native vigor of soul, and pureness of mind, the 
most apt to receive this religion, transplanted among 
them, — and that it should have taken root in them, and 
so deeply too, that they have carried it with them whi- 
thersoever they have wandered or settled, in the old 
world, or in the new, — seems to me the most astonish- 
ing fact in the natural history of man, and fills me with 
admiration, not less at the extent and magnificence of 
the divine plans, than the slowness, and jet certainty 
with which they are accomplished. 

It would appear then, that religion is a plant, which 
does not always thrive best in that country where it 
has originated, and that it is intended for emigration 
and transplanting, even from its origin ; — and moreover 
that its origin may be involved in great obscurity, and 
yet its results may afterwards be exceedingly illustrious. 
And we remark here, — we have before adverted to it, 
that the origins of all works truly divine, are for the 
most part hidden in darkness, there is a deep mystery 
which envelopes all such beginnings, and the first ori- 
gins of religions, as well as the species and genera of 
animals and plants are concealed in the mists of anti- 
quity. This has been made an objection to them by 
skeptics, those unhappy men to whom doubting is nat- 
ural, — probably from the want of an extended and far- 
seeing philosophy ; — for would they only consider the 
origins of all divine creations, they would find in like 
manner a thick and impenetrable mist to rest upon 
them ; — there seems no time when they have not been : 
and so it is in respect to the only truly divine religion 
which exists, — its origin, — where was it? in what 
epoch of time did it first appear ? — where, when ? — are 
the constant interrogations. It was in the elements of 
creation it originated ; its rites were local ; its consum- 
mation is the Christian religion : but its developments 



260 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

have been so slow, as to be invisible, even sometimes to 
entire nations. Amid the secluded hill-country of 
Palestine, had the Roman or Greek the most distant 
idea, the faintest surmise, that a system of divine truth 
was conceived, and waiting for the fulness of time to 
be discovered and made universally known, which 
should break down all their institutions, scatter all the 
chaff, and yet save all the grain of their philosophy, 
make all their virtues more estimable and glorious, and 
unveil, — to render more dismal and hideous, — all their 
vices ? How little heeded the Greek and Roman, — or 
knew they in fact, — what was in the womb of time ! 
What ignorance, what ominous unconsciousness, in 
Rome even at the time, in regard to that divine event, 
which was to be called " the second birth of heaven and 
earth !" — there is no sign, no intimation, even in their 
wisest philosopher, in their most gifted poet, of any 
such occurrence, — and yet this event was to revolution- 
ize the earth ; the system of divine ideas was to effect 
it ; and those tribes, and their descendants, were to be 
the instruments, — they were already marked for that 
destiny, — who now inhabited the banks of the Rhine, 
the Danube or the Wolga ; — they were rude and un- 
promising, — yes, but the seeds of virtue were actually 
sow T n; and the even and well-balanced dignity of 
human nature was secured and provided, in the mutual 
and serious respect and deference of the sexes for each 
other. 

The German matron, even in her rude and tempora- 
ry hut, exposed to cold and famine, and a numerous 
train of physical hardships, but never to insult, or the 
mockeries of artificial gallantry, felt herself a queen; 
and with the sober air of feminine magnanimity, and 
the tempered, yet unremitting ardor of a domestic 
patriot and citizen, impressed upon the minds of her 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 261 

children, her healthful hoys and girls, those lessons of 
hardihood and natural self-denial and patience, which 
of all things resembled most, — although wild and un- 
grafted fruits, — so as to he the types of them, the 
genuine and solid virtues of the Christian religion, 
which at this time was preparing, and being promulga- 
ted, in a quite distinct quarter of the globe. And truly 
this rude matron, and her no less rude husband, — 
scantily arrayed with the habiliments of art in body or 
mind, yet exhibiting at least the sound natural form of 
a perfect household, were far more fitted to welcome 
the news, which that religion brought, than some pol- 
ished pair of modern days, living in mutual servility, 
pampering or being pampered, neither touched nor 
elevated by noble cares, but seeking ever an inglorious 
ease for themselves and for their offspring. But not so 
that noble pair I see in the mirror of Tacitus' narrative 
of that sterling race; — they respected themselves as 
born and devoted to advance the prosperity and honor 
of their tribe ; they had no paltry insignificant interests 
of their own separate from those of their nation. And 
what although their chief pursuit was war ! it was not 
for themselves they fought, but for their nation. The 
social, the patriotic intention, although it could not ex- 
cuse, yet mitigated the wrong, — and made such mode 
of life the means of strengthening and binding more 
firmly, the social sympathies, the barbarian good will, 
which reigned in their bosoms. The virtues of civi- 
lized men look too generally to themselves and their 
own private interests; but not the virtues only, — even 
the vices of barbarians, have a more generous and libe- 
ral bearing, and regard principally the interest and 
glory of their tribe ; and individual or domestic selfish- 
ness, the most polished, but certainly not the least dan- 
gerous evil of modern society, is in a great measure 



262 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

checked or discouraged; — and so, when we take this 
extended view of the relations of their condition, we 
may see reason to think, that it is after all not so unfa- 
vorable to the proper virtues of humanity, as we might 
at first suppose. 

When we properly appreciate all these advantages 
which belong to a simple state of society, — what has 
been called the natural state, we shall be the less sur- 
prised that a divine religion was spurned by the corrupt 
and refined nations of Asia,— where women were 
slaves, and men tyrants, and the even balance of nature 
overthrown ; — and on the contrary accepted by those 
who^were called northern barbarians. But in the 
explanation of the phenomenon, we must also in the 
case of the Gauls (who were distinct from the Ger- 
mans,) take into account the fact mentioned by Caesar, 
— that the Gauls were exceedingly addicted to super- 
stition or religion. This propensity was cherished by 
the institution of Druids, a regular established body of 
priests, which the Germans had not. The instinct of 
religion, — which when unenlightened is called super- 
stition, — is a trait characteristic of the man-animal, as 
distinguished from the brute ; and the more vivid and 
lively it is in a nation, otherwise enterprising, the 
higher is their rank in the scale; the fine and lucid 
fancies of the Irish, and highland Scotch, as contrasted 
with the dull superstitions of the modern Germans 
mark them a superior people. A nation that in their 
rude state, have neither ghosts nor fairies among them, 
are not to be trusted ; — they are at best but a few 
removes from the brute beasts; they are incapable 
either of arts or religion: neither poetry, nor music, nor 
useful inventions, will ever adorn the brows of such a 
nation, with the chaplets and wreaths of honor and 
renown ; the utmost they are capable of is metaphysics 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 263 

and infidelity. But we have the distinct testimony of 
Ccesar respecting the Gauls, — tota gens est admodum 
dedita religionibus : wherever the wild, native vine 
grows abundantly in a country, we are sure the foreign 
will thrive ; — and the true vine of Judea flourished 
nobly when transplanted in the minds of the Gauls. 
We have the testimony of St. Augustine ; when Alaric 
took Rome by storm (A. D. 410,) the Romans, the 
adherents of the old religion, sought refuge in the 
Christian churches, together with the women; and 
these sanctuaries, says St. Augustine, the barbarians 
respected; and the very sight of the churches and the 
symbols of the Christian religion affected them so 
deeply, that even in the rage and pride of victory, 
their hearts were melted, — their minds touched with 
heavenly grace ; and they who had come as the destroy- 
ers of Rome, acknowledged themselves, ere long, the 
obedient children of the cross. 

It were easy to collect instances, at great length, to 
illustrate the distinct characters of those remarkable 
races of men, which have repeopled the south of 
Europe, and which with various Mendings, mixed 
together in that island of the brave and free, the land 
of our forefathers, ancient Britain. Here the German 
race proper, the Gauls, the Iberians were severally 
combined; and out of the mixture arose a peculiar 
distinct civilization, which required ages to be devel- 
oped, and which is yet very far from its perfection; — 
for civilization is not put on, but arises out of a people, 
and from those seeds implanted by religion, which are 
covered deep. A factitious civilization was attempted 
to be put on the ancient Britons by the Romans, and 
superficially it appeared a civilization ; but in subse- 
quent ages so entirely did it sink and disappear, that 
although the Romans kept possession of the island for 



£64 LECTURE THE NINTH. 

nearly 40jp years, not a trace of their early influence 
has been left, either on the language or institutions of 
the country ; for the Latin words adopted and natural- 
ized in the language, have been through a different 
channel and influence, namely, the church, the courts 
of law, and latterly, the study and admiration of 
classical literature. All improvements in nations, as 
well as individuals, must spring up naturally, and as it 
were imperceptibly, from their own peculiar genius 
and temperament: the seeds are sown deep, and lie 
long invisible; — and shoots at last bear the evidences 
of the moral soil and climate in which they appear. 
But the distinctive character of the British nation, — 
and the rise of American institutions in the mother 
land, — and all the curious and useful lights which the 
investigation may throw on the natural history of man, 
— will better appear, as a separate subject of discussion 
and illustration in our next lecture. 



LECTURE THE TENTH 



ON THE 



MAN OF AMERICA— SPANISH AND ENGLISH. 



Reflection that the universal lesson of nature, which has been parcelled out 
among the various nations of the earth, each having perfected its part, may 
be reproduced in the Phoenician and Scandinavian races on the American 
continent. — Of the former are the English, of the latter the Spaniard. — The 
native Polynesians and Australasians may be regarded as extremes of these. 
— Grecian traditions of the golden age, and the extreme barbarism of man- 
kind, being mixed with mythology, uncertain. — Translation from iEschylus. 
Advantages for the study of man's history afforded by the meeting in the new 
world of the most barbarous and most civilized condition. — The American 
continent designed for the development of principles long latent in the minds 
of emigrants from the old world, and which were the cause of their emigra- 
tion. Simplicity of the social state in this hemisphere indicated by the 
community of language. — Two languages will probably predominate, the 
Spanish and English. — Diversity of dialects, in the past condition of the 
human mind, a blessing. — Through these, each nation of the old world has 
been enabled to mature some particular good, but, as every good is to be 
combined here, occasion for such diversity no longer exists. — Dreadful con- 
sequences of identity of language, should a despotism arise.— Summary. — 
Sketch of the progress and character of the Scandinavian and Phoenician 
races. 

I have somewhere either read or heard of a tribe 
of rude and unlettered barbarians among whom it is 
a custom, when the king or chief makes a speech to 
his nation, that each individual is required to remem- 
ber some sentence of it, — and thus, although no one 
individual could repeat the whole, yet the whole is 

34 



266 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

among them, in unconnected, disjointed parts, "which 
the skill of a superior mind might again put together? 
and thus reproduce a perfect copy of the original. 
The case is very similar, in respect to all nations and 
tribes of men, when viewed in relation to that uni- 
versal voice of nature, which, as with t\ie tones of 
superior authority, has addressed itself to all of them, 
while all have been listeners, and retained each at least 
some one portion or sentence of that grand and con- 
stantly repeated lesson which is impressed upon them, 
— fragments of the copy of the entire philosophy of 
nature, — the reflection of a still hetter and holier light, 
of which nature is but the delegated effulgence. But 
in that speech of nature, which is also divine, there is 
this property besides, that each single sentence of it, 
while itself a fragment, contains also a bud or germ of 
the whole, as every twig, nay every leaf, of a living 
plant, every speck, even the smallest, contains germs or 
buds, by which the whole likeness of the perfect plant 
could be reproduced in the genial soil of nature. 

This reflection and similitude will at once instruct 
and console us in regard to the true condition of our 
species. What nation of men, what individual, how- 
ever wise, can be said to possess the whole truth on 
any department of philosophy, of government, of mo- 
rals, or religion. On this last sacred subject, how 
many sects, and how limited and few the ideas of each 
and all of them ; what fragments are they all of the 
round and perfect edifice of Christianity ; what twigs, 
or leaves merely, of that wonderful tree w T hose foliage, 
after a length of generations, must overspread all man- 
kind. But still, although each may be partial, the 
whole may be near being complete ; and each little part 
may also have within it that vital although undeveloped 
germ, from which, after a while, a true likeness of the 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 26? 

whole might be reproduced. Or it may be the design 
of nature that certain nations or sections of men shall 
give birth to, and rear to some maturity, certain valua- 
ble sentiments, truths, or practical institutions, and 
afterwards render them, at the appointed time, as a 
contribution of their experience to the general stock 
of human wisdom, when a more enlarged and wider 
society of human beings shall be capable of being 
formed out of those smaller ones which shall have 
hitherto existed. So far as likelihoods would seem to 
indicate, such might be expected to be the destined 
relation of the new continent to the old : wider govern- 
ments seem here intended to be formed, and to have 
transplanted within them the moral plants of valuable 
institutions and experiences, which have been for ages 
maturing themselves in the minds, at least, of the wise 
and good beyond the waters. There are here also the 
two grand races, and nearly similarly related, the Scan- 
dinavian and Phoenician, — of which I shall say more 
presently, — and the English chiefly of the first, the 
Spaniard more of the other: and these seem destined 
to share the whole continent between them. 

It is on account of this peculiarity of the new world, 
namely, that the tribes which are to govern it have 
sprung from the old, that the history of it is to be 
sought in the old. It is among these where we are 
to look for those fragments I have referred to, of a 
perfect philosophy, — those sentences of the universal 
speech which now we might be permitted to hope are 
designed to be gathered into one, — or at least a great 
many of them brought into intelligible and harmonious 
juxtaposition, so that the sphere of the human mind 
may become more enlarged, and the bounds of a just 
philanthropy be extended. 

It is by considering those two races, especially the 



268 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

Phoenician and Scandinavian, as seen under the new 
circumstances of this continent, and as history or tra- 
dition has represented them in the old, whether in 
their rude or civilized condition ; — it is by such con- 
trasts and comparisons only that we can arrive at any 
correct conclusion in regard to their natural character, 
which is the subject of inquiry, and also its relation 
with that of other races. For you will observe that, 
although politics, religion, morals, literature, fall under 
our notice at every turn, we consider them only so far 
as they throw light on the true character of the human 
species, and serve as helps to solve the great problem 
of its destiny. For this reason, I showed in my last 
lecture the character and genius of the ancient Ger- 
mans, a branch of the Scandinavian race, and shall still 
prosecute the subject in this, but under other connec- 
tions, bringing into view, namely, this continent, and 
that other great race, the Phoenician, with which in 
Europe their destinies have been mingled, and with 
whom also in this country they are likely to become 
still more intimately blended and identified. 

As for other scattered or insulated races of men, 
whether the aborigines of this country, or those others 
still more barbarous, to be found in the isles of the 
Pacific or Southern Ocean, I can only cast a glance at 
them. I here show you specimens of two races, one a 
New Zealander, the other of the Sandwich Islands.* 

The New Zealanders are savages, the inhabitants of 
the Sandwich Islands, of milder dispositions. You 
may regard them, if you choose, as defining to our 
imagination that extreme point of absolute barbarism 
from which the Phoenician and Scandinavian races 
may have originally started, although history carries us 

* Paintings of these were exhibited to the audience. 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 269 

not so far back. There is abundance of mythology, 
but no positive history, on the subject. 

What degree of credit we are to give to those vague 
traditions which we find in the earlier poems of 
Greece on this subject, it is difficult to determine; 
but certain it is that they point backward to a time 
and a state of society nearly as rude and savage as that 
in which the Australasians and Polynesians have been 
found by modern navigators ; — and there is a slight 
degree of inconsistency and confusion in their descrip- 
tions on this topic : at one time you find their beauti- 
ful and almost inspired poets or vates, •&.&:, pointing 
you to a golden age, long antecedent to our present era, 
when mankind lived in happy abundance, when the 
earth poured forth from her bosom spontaneous fertili- 
ty, and the human soul, that better soil, devoted to a 
nobler order of productions, was no less spontaneously 
or instinctively prolific of all the gentler and kindlier 
virtues, — when no law was needed to regulate, or to 
awaken the sense of justice, and no didactic theology 
was yet taught to enkindle the flame of a lively devo- 
tion, for it arose unbidden, or prompted by a native 
voice and instinct, at the contemplation of the fair and 
beautiful in nature, and the useful and the grand com- 
mingling themselves therewith, and decorating, as with 
a rich profusion of varied ideas, the face of creation, 
and the order of the world. Such is one side of the 
picture which the fancies or the inspired minds of the 
Greek poets present you with, and sufficiently delight- 
ful and attractive it is, all must allow : and they trace 
downward from this period a successive series of degen- 
erations through the ages of silver, brass, and iron, as 
they termed them. But in all this there is nothing 
from which you can infer positively what was their 
ordinary opinion or belief on these matters. They are 



270 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

evidently disjointed fragments of some grand system of 
theology or philosophy ; — and I agree with those who 
think that such materials and broken devices have 
been brought from the East, where the great temple 
or edifice, and the magnificent design was at one time 
no doubt perfect, and reflected from its lofty and 
august columns the light and beauty of heaven, — a 
temple more magnificent than that of Solomon, al- 
though that also was built according to a model seen in 
heaven : but, in a milder age, in a more beneficent era, 
the light under which the division of the parts was 
rendered distinct, was softer, and clearer, and mellower, 
and even, methinks, of a golden hue, — rendering all 
more attractive and divine. Such was the exemplar of 
that better temple, and under a light so advantageous 
was it seen, — the model or plan according to which 
nature itself was built, — so perfect and so fair. But, 
as I think, it is justly surmised that it was but the 
fragments of this temple, parts and individual devices, 
that were afterwards transported into Greece by the 
industry of her poets and philosophers, and hence it is 
that although the glimpses of a great design which we 
can occasionally catch, are striking and full of interest, 
awakening the most lively curiosity, yet it is in vain 
that we seek a consistent whole. Like the "Elgin 
marbles," which have been rifted by the English from 
the sacred remains of ancient sculpture in Greece, and 
exhibited in the museums of London, they awaken 
glorious ideas of ancient art and designs, but do not 
satisfy or complete them. And it is in consequence 
also of this borrowed character of the materials of 
ancient song and philosophy, in Greece and Rome, that 
we find so much inconsistency and confusion in their 
pictures of ancient times ; for among these same poets, 
in whom you meet with those glowing descriptions of 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 271 

the perfection of the first ages of human kind, you find 
again the whole scene of enchantment vanish, and 
man, instead of being the companion and friend of 
the gods, as the golden visions represented him, herd- 
ing with the beasts, his mates and fellows in the wil- 
derness, destitute of the arts, addicted to the most 
savage cruelty, insensible to all moral distinctions, 
gratifying his passions and instincts without regard to 
the inclinations of others, or any obligations of duty, — 
perhaps a cannibal, — and in some instances ignorant of 
the use of fire. But whether this condition in which 
you now find him cast existed before or after the gol- 
den age, and when mankind had fallen as low as it was 
possible for them, it will be in vain that you attempt 
to discover. There is here a chasm in their mytho- 
logy, and the ingenuity of their philosophers has never 
attempted to remove or to conceal it, — a glaring proof 
of their borrowed and imperfect wisdom. But, how- 
ever, the arts of life which afterwards sprung up 
among them, and which served to dispel the gloom 
and despondency of their forlorn condition, they very 
readily ascribed to the gods, and chiefly to the interpo- 
sition of Prometheus, whom they fabled to have made 
a man of clay, and to have stolen fire from heaven 
wherewith to animate him. From that epoch have 
sprung up and flourished all the arts of artificial so- 
ciety, from which even the iron age itself has re- 
ceived a polish, and been made to reflect the splendor 
of a brighter era, the light but not the heat of the 
golden age. 

The two oldest poets of Greece, from whom we have 
derived the ideas of the more ancient ages, are Homer 
and Hesiod, who were cotemporary, and lived probably 
about nine centuries before the christian era ; at least 
if they were not absolutely cotemporary, they inhaled 



272 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

the same influences, they breathed the same atmos- 
phere of sweet and vigorous thoughts, — such as 1 know 
not for what reason, awaken feelings in the soul, which 
seem to be asleep at all other times, and look like the 
slumbers of infancy. There is something in the human 
soul which is capable of sympathising with every con- 
dition of human life, from the most simple to the most 
refined ; but that part of us which is allied to the genius 
of the early ages is more infantile, and on that account 
always the most agreeably stirred by the songs of those 
rude times. It is from Hesiod we receive the account 
of the several ages of gold, silver, brass, and iron, and 
I would read and translate it, if it were at all possible 
for modern language to preserve at once the simplicity 
and dignity of the subject. But I shall translate a sen- 
tence or two from a different source,* the soldier-poet 
of Greece, iEschylus I mean, who fought at Marathon 
490, A. C. It is to him we are indebted mainly for 
the story of Prometheus, a mystical representation of 
the origin of the arts ; the features of the whole story 
are religious, and on that account perhaps have been 
the more faithfully preserved and transmitted to pos- 
terity. Prometheus thus speaks of himself: 

But listen in what wretched plight were men, 
And how I made them, babes in mind before, 
Intelligent, with capabilities 

Of knowledge : 

Eyes, ears had they, hut to no purpose saw, 
Or heard : but like the misty shapes of dreams, 
All things through all their life disjointedly 
Confounded : nor they knew to make of brick 
Houses to front the sun, nor works of wood : 
Like tiny ants, in underground abodes 

* In the MS. a blank was left for the Author's own translation. The defi- 
ciency has been supplied from an excellent translation of "Prometheus Bound," 
in a late number of Blackwood's Magazine. 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN- 27& 

They dwelt, chill in the sunless depths of caves ; 

Of fruitful summer, winter, flowery spring, 

They had no certain sign ; but they pursued 

Without discernment whatsoe'er they did 

Till I explained the risings of the stars, 

And their mysterious settings. I for them 

Invented numbers, highest science this ; 

And also the synthetical array 

Of letters, signs of thought ; and memory, 

The mother of the muse, of every art, 

Artificer. I was the first to tame 

And yoke their beasts of burden, by their strength 

To be men's substitutes in greatest toils ; 

I made the steed obedient to the reins 

In chariots, which are luxury's ornament, 

None but myself invented the swift bark, 

The sail-winged chariot of the mariner, 

That lightly skims the ocean 



such were my gifts, 

And who can say that he revealed to men, 
Before I did, earth's hidden benefits, 
Brass, iron, silver, gold 1 None, I am sure, 
That would not make a false and idle vaunt ; 
In one word, learn the whole : whatever arts 
Mankind doth know, Prometheus taught them all. 

Such were the traditions which had reached the age 
of iEschylus, of the primeval rudeness of human socie- 
ty; but neither his own observations nor the narratives 
of travelers, (so far as we know,) could have made 
him acquainted with any such state of savage life then 
existing: even at that early period the pure state of 
nature, as it has been called, was but a dream or a far- 
traveled tradition. But it is one of those wonders 
which the discovery of the new world has brought to 
light — and the subsequent peopling of it from the old, 
— that we have been brought nearer, as it were, at 
once to the most rude, as well as the most perfect state 
of human society. Among the aborigines of this conti- 
nent, and especially in Polynesia and Australasia, since 
discovered, has been found that very condition of savage 

35 



274 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

life, which the fancies or traditions of the Greeks made 
them acquainted with, — a people, whom the arts and 
inventions of Prometheus have never reached, — plunged 
in the most absolute barbarism, — "ancient fables true:" 
and at the same time we may hope, if too much self- 
congratulation do not blind our eyes, or relax our exer- 
tions, that this new system of confederated republics may 
realize the visions of Plato, and represent all the better 
features of that commonwealth, which he supposed to 
exist only in heaven. We are consequently placed in 
the best possible circumstances to study the history of 
man, for we have here the first and the last pages of 
that history before us, impressed as it were with those 
natural figures and symbols from which the truth has 
to be disengaged. It is in vain that we talk of man in 
the abstract, or that we would discover his character 
and dispositions in the contour or form of his body, the 
lineaments of his countenance, or the prominences of 
his skull ; equally inadequate also are those metaphysi- 
cal speculations which make the mind alone, as it is 
called, the indication of the man ; — all these afford in- 
deed partial views, — glimpses, which are themselves 
explicable, when the true philosophy is known ; but it 
is from his works chiefly, from what he has done, from 
what he does, that man is most truly discovered and 
explained. Other methods of study lead at best to 
plausible conjecture, to problematical truth; but when 
you have followed on the track of his actual history, 
when you have pursued him through all his wanderings, 
from the first rude stages of society to the most civi- 
lized, — traced the first naked impressions of his foot- 
steps on the wilderness, until at last you have arrived 
at those innumerable traces of art and skill which he 
has imprinted on so many countries, — you have certain 
criteria before you ; you are decyphering the true char- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 275 

acters of his philosophy, as well as his history, — and 
you may be assured, that every new discovery and in- 
vention, will afford only fresh indications of his genius 
and character, his instincts, his reason and propensities. 
It is on this account, that the new world has proved 
so great an acquisition to philosophy, for hy placing 
man under new circumstances, it has brought to light 
new views of his nature, disproved old theories, or con- 
firmed immovably such as had before a foundation in 
truth. When we consider the subject under this light, 
it will appear very wonderful, and a thing of divine 
appointment, that this new continent was hidden from 
the knowledge of the old so long, or but dimly guessed, 
for in the meantime, those ideas or germs of systems 
were allowed to be matured and perfected where they 
originated, until they were fit for transplanting, — at 
which time this new world was discovered, and afforded 
that very soil, which was most congenial and propitious 
to their second development, — and where they are 
destined to reach the most glorious and useful maturity 
of this their new and more perfect being. I speak not 
at random. We have been instructed by the voice of 
experience that this continent has been designed by 
Providence, to be a theatre for the trial and exhibition 
of those theories of government and society, which 
have long existed in the mind as speculations, but had 
never until now an opportunity of fair and impartial 
probation. It is true there are many of these schemes 
and embryo views, on which we cannot yet pronounce 
decisively, because the trial has not yet been fairly 
made, or is yet in progress, or only begun ; but at all 
events, we have already seen enough to convince us 
that religion and natural knowledge, will here find 
their most convenient and agreeable residence. This 



276 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

is the Delos, this is the land which has arisen ahove the 
waves, to receive the twin offspring, — religion and phi- 
losophy, — the true Apollo, and Diana, — the sun, — the 
moon of the moral world. Only now at last do we 
begin to see the true bearings of the events of the year 
1 492. The voyage of Columbus excited at the time but 
a childish astonishment, or it awakened only dreams of 
boundless wealth, external splendor, or physical enter- 
prise ; but very different are the feelings, with which 
we now regard it, and the real magnitude of the event 
begins at last to be disclosed to us, — for the physical 
discovery was but the prophetic emblem of the moral 
revelation, which was to be made, — the moral system 
which was to be established here. And the same fact 
is discernible in the character of those who have emi- 
grated, and made this continent their residence. For 
is it necessary to prove, that those who first came here, 
brought in their minds the germs of those social insti- 
tutions, which have since sprung up and flourished so 
wonderfully? I maintain that it was the existence of 
these germs in their minds, which constituted that in- 
stinct of emigration, which brought them here. They 
did not know why they came; some supposed that 
they had come to improve their fortunes, others be- 
cause they were tired of home, and wished to see nature 
in a new guise, — like the fabled goddess of love, born 
of the foam of the ocean. The attractions and the 
motives were various, but there was but one reason 
after all, which impelled them to come, — the seeds of 
those moral institutions lodged in their bosoms, which 
rendered them restless and uneasy, and made some 
think that they wanted more money, and others that 
they wanted more fame, and all that they wanted 
something, — and so they came. There is a gulf 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 277 

stream, which often carries us remote from the point 
to which we are steering, but not to a less secure or 
-safe anchorage ; 

" There's a Divinity that shapes our ends, 
Rough hew them as we will." — 

This is acknowledged to he true in the cases of indi- 
viduals ; is it less so in that of nations ? — it is here even 
still more striking. Consider only of what a multitude 
of apparently heterogeneous elements the social system 
is here composed, I mean in America, and yet what 
unity and simplicity begins at last to be visible, and will 
be constantly becoming more so ; and you will discover 
that although the selfish ends have been innumerable, 
and the prejudices exceedingly contradictory, yet the 
general direction that has been impressed, is of the most 
felicitous character, and reflects, so to speak, in beauti- 
ful hues, the love and the wisdom of one God. 

I might illustrate this point, namely, the tendency to 
a ff greater simplicity and unity in the social details, by a 
variety of facts, and the contrasts which would be pre- 
sented between the old world and the new ; but avoid- 
ing a wide survey, let us fix on some convenient indi- 
cations of the general proposition, and I believe such 
can be found in the fact of the greater similarity of lan- 
guage which is observed on this continent ; I refer not 
now particularly to that very uniform style of accent 
and pronunciation which prevails throughout the Uni- 
ted States of North America, which is, nevertheless, 
remarkable, when compared with the motley dialects 
to be found in the different shires of England, and cer- 
tainly is an indication of a greater concentration of the 
social system here, notwithstanding the far larger extent 
of territory, but I omit to say more on this point, and 
leave it to your own reflections : — 1 request your atten- 



278 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

tion to a more general fact, and which will illustrate 
that simplicity of the social and national arrangements, 
which is obviously designed to characterize this hemi- 
sphere, and that portion of human history to be here 
enacted. Only two languages will be dominant 
throughout the entire continent, — the Spanish and 
English, and most probably will at last supplant all 
others. This will appear a very important circum- 
stance, when we consider that a national language is, 
as it were, the mould in which the mind of a nation is 
cast ; — those who speak the same language must always 
have the same mental identity ; — it is unavoidable ; 
it is true the language itself may expand with the 
new minds of which it becomes at once the encase- 
ment and the instrument ; but still every language has 
a certain idiom or genius, originally instamped upon it, 
from which it never can essentially depart ; and there- 
fore those who speak the same language are thus held 
together as by a common vinculum. 

Since it is probable then, that w T ith the present facili- 
ties of intercourse, these two languages will ultimately 
divide the entire continent between them, they natu- 
rally attract attention on themselves, first in respect to 
the vast extent of territory, over which each must at 
last prevail, and secondly, to their European origin — 
those fountains of thought and feeling, out of which 
they have welled ; for thought and feeling are the plas- 
tic powers of language, as they are also the natural 
indications of races. 

But I observe first, the great extent of territory, over 
which either language must prevail, as a characteristic 
of that new civilization, and to present a new aspect of 
the natural history of man. The number of languages 
spoken on the continent of Europe, as every one knows, 
is very great. In Great Britain and Ireland alone there 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 279 

are not fewer than four distinct languages spoken, 
besides a variety of provincial dialects, although the 
English language is now the only one generally writ- 
ten. These distinct languages are the remaining badges 
of the ancient distinct kingdoms of England, Wales, 
Scotland and Ireland. I give this as a specimen of 
variety on a small and connected empire; — you will 
look over Europe and make your own estimate. I has- 
ten to other considerations. 

This multiplicity and diversity of tongues has com- 
monly been considered as an evil, — is it so ? — it would 
be so here ; — has it been so in Europe ? 1 think not ; 
it has not been so hitherto ; for although " the confu- 
sion of languages" may be traced to evil originally, 
such as hatred and the predominance of the selfish pas- 
sions, by which nations have become estranged, and no 
longer understand each other; yet when we look at 
mankind as they have existed for many ages in Europe, 
we shall find that this diversity of tongues has proved 
as great a protection to them against the ambition and 
tyranny of each other, as the seas and mountains which 
separate their territories. For as these natural barriers 
check and limit the progress of foreign conquest, they 
allow those national dialects to be formed, which after- 
wards, serving as convenient passwords to those of the 
same community, distinguish their friends from their 
foes, and shield them in other respects. For if an in- 
vader could not only bring a superior force against a 
country, but had also ready access to the minds of a 
people, through the use of a common language, how 
could either the souls or bodies of men be longer safe, 
against the employment of force on the one hand, 
and the influence of persuasion on the other ? What 
sad and monotonous slavery would have prevailed every 
where on the continent of Europe ! How every beauti- 



280 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

ful and interesting feature of nationality and sectional- 
ism would have been defaced or obliterated ! Where 
would have been then that sweet gentleness and beauty 
of Italian language and Italian mind, as distinguished 
so finely from this vigor and vivacity of the French ? 
— and where on the other hand had been the mascu- 
line power of the English, or the majestic and solemn 
grandeur of the German ; — or thou, sweet Burns, thou, 
my countryman ! how different had been thy strains — 

" simple bard, rough at the rustic plough, 



Learning thy tuneful trade from every bough.' 

Had not Scotland, by dint of her native language, as 
well as her Highland mettle, so long held her own 
against such tremendous odds of southern foes, — until 
at last she gave her own king to England ; — where had 
been the inimitable simplicity of the Doric speech of 
Scotland, and the peculiar armor of the Scottish mind, 
which sits so gracefully upon it, to say nothing of other 
dialects, had not this distinction of languages been al- 
lowed to prevail, — here at least productive of so many 
advantages. 

But I need hardly dwell on the demonstration of a 
fact so obvious as this, that a national language affords 
a natural protection to the mental and moral liberty of 
a people; — beneath the green foliage of their own 
living thoughts, they can repose securely, and bid defi- 
ance to the inroads of false sentiment on the one hand, 
and false philosophy on the other. Some specious false- 
hood, some fine-spun system of opinions, which has a 
show of truth, or at least a natural attraction in the 
language in which it is first conceived, when translated 
into another, and stripped of its lettering and gilding, 
falls quite harmlessly on the eyes and minds of those 
who may read or hear it. The sentiment and philoso- 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 281 

phy of the French revolution, would have occasioned 
much wider mischief, had it not been necessary for it 
to undergo the ordeal of translation : if the original 
words of the Marseilles hymn could have been as per- 
fectly translated into the languages, as the music could 
be transfused into the minds of other nations, the 
demon of revolution might have roamed unchecked 
over Europe, and a military despotism been established, 
more extensive than that of ancient Rome. Where 
mankind are not prepared to think rightly, it is at 
least a mitigation of their misfortune that they are 
allowed to think differently. The variety of languages 
is a provision of this kind; for by this means there 
are permitted to exist several independent centres of 
thought, and the chances for discovering truth are mul- 
tiplied ; for fewer conflicting lights enter laterally, — 
they are prevented by putting down the shutters of the 
native language ; and thus, if, by good providence, a 
few scattered rays should come from above, whence 
alone truth cometh, they are allowed to converge, as it 
were, to the focus of the native mind undisturbed, and 
the individual or nation can more quietly and certainly 
read the discovery. It is also permitted, before being 
divulged, to acquire greater force and distinctness ; and 
if it be indeed genuine truth, it can then bear transla- 
tion into every language, and become intelligible to all 
minds. 

This is more especially necessary in regard to moral 
and religious truth, particularly the latter, for this 
being so much oftener adopted on authority, than ad- 
mitted on conviction or actual intuition, it seems essen- 
tial to allow any breadth at all to such sentiments and 
opinions, to increase as much as possible the natural 
means of independent thinking. Unity here, to be 
worth any thing, must be based on variety : different 

36 



282 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

languages are also favorable to this, not only as regards 
the formation of opinions on religion, which are not in 
themselves of so much consequence as that building-up 
of distinct habits and practical forms of goodness and 
piety, which in those sequestered and separate com- 
munities, dependant on heaven rather than each other, 
present undoubtedly the most beautiful and interesting 
forms of human life, — the very types of felicitous free- 
dom. The prevalence of one language would seem to 
break down and monotonise these happy scenes of 
various good. It is by means of a distinct language 
that the idea, as it has been called, of the nation or the 
individual is preserved ; the language is, as it were, the 
mould in which this idea is cast ; and when you break 
the mould the idea is broken at the same time. 

Such at least would seem to be the natural conclu- 
sion, when we look at Europe, and the past there. 
And the cause of this peculiarity in regard to them 
may be, that they have not as yet even any enlightened 
theory in regard to the public good, — the public good 
of Europe, I mean ; their systems are professedly self- 
ish and anti-social, national — not continental ; hence 
these nations have been delivered over, each to its own 
theory of good, its own ideas, its own language. And 
what has been the consequence, — to the New World 
especially I mean? The consequence has been, that 
they have each matured, and hence now also represent, 
certain essential traits of good, which, when combined 
in the new order of society here, may at last furnish 
out a very complete and entire whole ; which will re- 
quire of course a more enlarged expression, and find it 
too, literally even, in the more general and extended 
use of one and the same language. 

Such is the theory I would deduce, but, of course, 
to be received with allowance, from the fact of the 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 283 

variety of languages in the old continent, and their 
reduction here to but a few, probably, at least, to but 
two, — English and Spanish. We cannot predict the 
future ; but I direct your attention to this phenomenon 
as one, the study of which, in connection with other 
" signs of the times," may lead you to anticipate the 
character of the new era, — the third act of the grand 
drama of human history; — for two acts are already 
past, that which has preceded and that which has fol- 
lowed the Christian era, — and now begins a third. 

Every one of the great nations of the old world has 
perfected and matured some truth, or showed the con- 
sequences of some general fallacy, — some idol of the 
tribe which had received too ready worship ; all have 
done something, and cast their offerings into the gene- 
ral treasury. It will now be for the new world to 
open that treasury, — to take account of stock, and hav- 
ing done so, to throw nothing good away, but to be 
thankful to the old world for the fruits of their experi- 
ence and labor. Such seems to be the great task and 
duty which now devolves especially on the new world. 
She is called upon in particular to separate the chaff 
from the grain, for now has come the crisis — I use the 
term in its original sense — the judgment, — the occa- 
sion, the season of separation. She is not called upon 
to adopt the prejudices or opinions of any one country 
or age, but whatever may be valuable, and useful, and 
tried, she is bound to receive, and as far as possible to 
naturalize. For according to the views which have 
presented themselves, and of which two dominant lan- 
guages form as it were the prediction and augury, a 
very broad and extended basis of a new social system is 
here being laid, which is to include within it every 
thing that is good and true, and especially to guard and 
protect individual liberty,— the right of every man to 



284 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

the free and untrammeled exercise of his own thoughts, 
and, what is only a part of the same thing, the free ex- 
pression of them. When this theory, — for such actually 
is the American theory of the social system, — has also 
become the practice, all those natural devices of differ- 
ent languages for securing the sovereignty and mental 
independence of states and individuals will have ac- 
complished their end ; and, being no longer useful, will 
disappear, and leave one language and one universal 
spirit of social and continental benevolence to take 
their room ; what need of such screens longer when 
none are disposed to fix tyrannously their minds and 
opinions upon others ? 

You perceive we are prophets of good; — it is because 
we say what we wish. But there is another side to 
the picture; for should ever a political or spiritual 
tyranny be fastened on these states and this people, it 
would, in consequence of the identity of language, be 
the most galling and oppressive that ever was esta- 
blished. The uninterrupted flow of one language 
would bear the mighty swell of the tide, — of uniform 
opinion, for that is slavery, truth is freedom, — into 
every crevice and nook of the land, with an impetu- 
ous and overwhelming force, beating down before it 
every barrier of thought, every trace and vestige of in- 
dependent feeling. It would be one vast and monoto- 
nous expanse of Chinese despotism, from which not 
even the privacy of our own minds could protect 
us, the very night would shine as the day, — without 
consolation or refuge of any kind, not even the shield 
or covert of some sweet local and provincial language, 
in which to utter the bitterness of our complaints, in 
sounds heard but not understood, by the ears of our 
courtly masters. The Scotch Highlander, when he 
can sing his Gallic songs in praise of valiant dukes dead 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 285 

and gone, or the Welsh mountaineer, as he chants the 
deeds of the patriot David or the brave Llewellyn, can 
each, within his own language, enjoy a world of his 
own, and forget for a time queen Victoria or her taxes ; 
hut it is evident no such refuge would be left to the 
citizens of these states. There would be no oasis, no 
lively spot of green, in that Sahara of moral desolation 
which would be occasioned by the loss of mental and 
spiritual freedom in this continent — more especially as 
such loss could be incurred here only from the tyranny 
of the many, not as heretofore from the tyranny of one 
or the tyranny of the few. 

But it is necessary that we bring now the several 
points which have been referred to under one view, 
in order that we may perceive their relation to the 
subject. 

They are these : 

I. That the old nations of Europe, made up of the 
Scandinavian and Phoenician branches of the Caucasian 
race, unlike their representatives on this continent, are 
characterized by divisions and jealousies of old stand- 
ing, which have resulted in distinct governments, often 
arrayed in hostile opposition to each other, distinct 
usages also, and for the most part, distinct languages. 

II. That the effect of this has been indeed to perpe- 
tuate disunion, but that at the same time this distinct- 
ness, and especially that of language, has been so far 
fortunate, as it has proved an impediment to conquest, 
and prevented the establishment of a general despot- 
ism, — which has enabled each nation to cultivate and 
improve its own native genius and talent, and to contri- 
bute its proper share to the common good of the species. 

III. That a system has arisen here in many respects 
the reverse of that which has prevailed, — distinguished 
by a certain beautiful simplicity, a natural tendency 



286 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

towards combination and union, which, while it secures 
to each individual and community all the advantages 
before attainable by absolutely distinct governments, 
binds the whole in one, not by destroying their indivi- 
duality, but by inscribing on each the features of the 
whole, — 

Facies non omnibus una 

Nee diversa tamen, qualis decet esse sororum. 

IV. That the result of this has been a greater en- 
largement and comprehensiveness of mind, as respects 
the individual, while the affections of each cling to a 
greater variety of objects, and the ideas are expanded 
by the community of language, while at the same time 
the practical inculcation of freedom on all hands, and 
the confliction of views conciliate or compel mutual 
respect, and secure to each man the exercise of private 
judgment, and all the rights of conscience, on condition 
that he allow the same to others. 

In all these points we perceive a manifest progress, 
and although the advancement is not such — and can it 
ever be such ? — as to secure us against all danger of 
sliding back even into a worse condition, yet it is to be 
considered a positive good, and the more so, for that 
character of simplicity which belongs to the system, 
and which is an augury of yet greater good. 

This portion of the Caucasian race marked by these 
new features of civilization, I have designated by the 
names Scandinavian and Phoenician; and the brief 
notice of their history should be the more interesting 
to us, now that we have seen them in their most advan- 
ced stage of progress. They appear originally also to 
have had a common residence, somewhere in the cen- 
tral regions of Asia, and to have separated at an early 
period. The Scandinavian branch took a more northern 
route in their progress westward, following a pastoral 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 287 

life, fond of war, and successful. The pure stock 
were the ancient Germans whose manners I have de- 
scribed. The other, or the Phoenician branch, took 
early to a sea-faring life, settled on the eastern shores 
of the Mediterranean, — by naval skill and commer- 
cial enterprise extended their dominions to the south 
and west, settled colonies on the African coast, in Spain, 
most probably also in Gaul and Britain, in which last 
countries they also encountered, — and after a separa- 
tion of many eventful centuries, — their Scandinavian 
brethren. But how different at last the manners, the 
institutions, the religion of each. It is to the Phoeni- 
cian tribe, I think, that we ought to ascribe that degra- 
dation of the female sex, which Caesar speaks of as 
existing among the Gauls. And to the same source 
also is to be referred, 1 imagine, the still more licen- 
tious manners of the Britons, mentioned by the same 
author. Neither of these accounts is consistent with 
that style of manners which prevailed among the Ger- 
mans, at least that portraiture of them executed by 
Tacitus. The practice of human sacrifices, also so dis- 
tinctly referred to and described by Caesar, as found 
among the Britons, proclaims itself of Phoenician 
extraction; — not to mention druidism, which is alto- 
gether foreign from the genius of northern barbarians, 
but partakes much of the character of the Asiatic 
castes, from which it seems to me very obviously to 
have been derived. 

In the earliest notices of ancient authors, we find 
these originally fraternal races jostling with each other 
in the western countries of Europe, and in most instan- 
ces, blending in one. But the Scandinavian race, ac- 
cording to our standard of estimation, is the much 
superior of the two, of a more intrepid character, 
encountering at first a rough, and apparently a more 



288 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

congenial clime, — making a bend toward the north, — 
described by Herodotus under the name of Boudini, by 
Aristotle under the name of Scythians, and at last by 
Tacitus under the name of Germans — or war-men, — 
but in all cases exhibiting the same strong characteris- 
tic features. Let us hope that the American colonists 
are descended principally from these. For this race 
seems to me to have been always, in the most ancient 
as well as the most recent times, in the first buoyancy, 
and spring, and gay festive purity of ardent juvenes- 
cence ; nothing of the senility of superstition has ever 
yet ploughed a furrow on its brow, or damped for an 
hour the youthful freedom of its thoughts ; it is frank 
and democratic, resistless, and full of the most glowing 
and sanguine expectations; — it is protestant, and sees 
its gods by the vigor of its own imagination, and needs 
neither pictures nor emblems to awaken its discreet 
and generous devotion ; but it is elevated by its religion 
and never depressed; and needs neither saints nor 
demi-gods, much less expensive or magnificent temples 
to introduce its naturally pure and elastic thought into 
the interior sanctuaries of nature, — the dwelling of 
Divinity; but the open field or the wild forest are 
places sufficiently sacred for them, and hymns of reli- 
gion and liberty have arisen from thence, poured from 
their souls and lips, — conceptions of their own native 
bards — more noble by far than were ever imagined or 
sung in the softer climates of Italy or Spain, beneath 
the canopy of the most superb and illustrious architec- 
ture : " lucos ac nemora consecrant," says Tacitus, 
" deorumque nominibus appellant secretum illud, quod 
sola reverentia vident:" the woods and the groves, their 
fancies and their rites have consecrated, and with the 
names of gods do they dignify those objects only, or 
unseen existences, which they contemplate solely with 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 289 

the deep reverence of the soul, for no images of the 
gods are presented to their bodily eyes. These are 
the Scandinavian race, — such the features of character 
which the God of nature has endowed them with ; — 
having advanced westward, as 1 have said, with a sweep 
towards the north, and pouring a new and healthful 
tide of brave and pure blood throughout the veins of 
the whole population of Europe; in after times, — 
crossing the Alps, — crossing the Pyranese, — settling 
also in Britain. 

But I must be true to history; besides the Scandina- 
vian race, there is the other, the Phoenician, — bending 
round and embracing Europe, as with a corresponding 
sweep towards the south, and penetrating first into 
Spain, thence into Britain, and lastly into Gaul. But 
that even this race was once vigorous, full of youth, 
enterprising and bold, there cannot be a doubt; their 
navigation and their commerce are sufficient witnesses ; 
but the worst and worn out remnants of them seem at 
last to have settled in Gaul and Britain, and also in 
Spain ; they brought with them from the neighborhood 
of Egypt and Palestine, that system of priestcraft,— 
one of those accretions which attach themselves to 
tribes and countries of men, which are the native lands 
of religion, the homes of mysticism, — a disease arising 
out of that peculiarity of organization. And it is also 
a curious fact in man's history, that superstition and 
gross licentiousness are naturally combined; they both 
arise equally from the same cause, — from the vicious 
inability of elevating the mind into the region of pure 
spiritualism, that subtile and abstract religion, which, 
while it bears all the aspect of coldness and want of 
vitality, is nevertheless the true and real vestal virgin 
of the mind. Those melting airs, that southern soft- 
ness, — what is it, after all, with all its powers of sooth- 

37 



290 LECTURE THE TENTH. 

ing, compared with that intrepid and dauntless religion, 
which is nursed amid the cold and rugged mountains 
of Scotland, or of Sweden ; among the pure breed of 
Scandinavian men ? But yet I have said that the Phoe- 
nician race, with which to some extent I class the 
modern Spaniard, was at one time not destitute of 
vigor. Herodotus informs us that at an early period 
they circumnavigated Africa ; and there are traditions 
of their having visited the Madeira Islands, perhaps the 
Azores : conjecture only can affirm that they touched, 
in their navigations, this continent. They had the 
instinct of trading deeply laid in them, a fine propen- 
sity, when regulated by moral principle, but infinitely 
more degrading than the military genius, when it is 
not. It has been observed that wherever a people has 
been corrupted by sheer traffic, when they fall, they 
fall forever ; they are incapable of redemption : fraud 
is a cancer which is incurable in individuals or nations. 
The Phoenician race became proverbial for this trait, 
as every one knows, among their neighbors : punka 
fides meant the absence of good faith ; downright trea- 
chery. I am sorry to be obliged to trace a considerable 
portion of the American lineage to this stock,- — but the 
fact cannot be concealed. 

That the Spaniards in particular are much blended 
with this race, is very certain. The Phoenicians had 
formed extensive settlements in the country before the 
Christian era, — and the Moors were also of the same 
breed. But there is, besides this, the pure Castilian 
blood, derived from the Goths, a powerful and heroic 
tribe of the Scandinavians. Thus the Spaniards are a 
mixed race, but their excessive devotion to an emble- 
matical religion, and their opposition to protestantism, 
in the philosophical sense, shows that the original vigor 
of the tribe has been dashed with a sprinkling of orien- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 291 

talism. Not that we would brand such a disposition 
as a mark of absolute inferiority, but when a race is 
generally corrupt, (and the whole human species itself 
is believed to be in this condition,) it will happen, as a 
matter of course, that the portion of it which is most 
inclined to the gentler virtues, and disposed to mysti- 
cism, will show the blight the soonest and the most 
glaringly, as during the prevalence of the winter's cold, 
those plants which are most tender and delicate, and 
tropical and beautiful, are the first to droop or to be 
injured, while the more hardy and less attractive, often 
look more vigorous from the encounter, and show their 
stern evergreen more lively than before. The Scandi- 
navian are the evergreen of the human tribes, the Phoe- 
nician and the oriental are the summer plant ; and that 
blight, which from a period too remote to be histori- 
cally traced, has come upon mankind, has made those 
appear worst who might otherwise have stood highest 
in our estimation. But the vernal equinox of the grand 
moral year, — the mirabilis annus of the ancients — may 
not be very distant, when degraded races may hope to 
recover their lost honor and distinction, and those who 
are now pre-eminent only for the softness of a sensual 
effeminacy, may become remarkable for the loveliness 
and delicacy of their native and appropriate virtues. 
It is at all events a delightful anticipation, and 1 should 
be reluctant to abandon it — bona speprselucet in pos- 
terum. 



LECTURE THE ELEVENTH; 



ON THE 



ARTS AND COMMERCE OF THE PHOENICIANS. 



Obscure tradition in Plato of the existence of this continent. — Progress of the 
science of government evinced by a comparison of American institutions, 
with the theory of Plato's republic. — The poetry and romance of the ancient 
condition of society, is here superseded by the rational and practical. — Their 
religion was local and national, being reflected from their original history; 
— the religion of the moderns is spiritual and catholic. — Modern civilization 
distinguished by the cultivation of the useful arts, by which personal free- 
dom is secured to a large portion of the human family, and the spirit of peace 
fostered. — The arts proper to man. — The Phoenicians the inventors of the 
economical arts. — Their circumnavigation of Africa. — The invention of alpha- 
betic writing ascribed to them. — The genius and occupations of the Egyptians 
would not have suggested this art. — The relations of these nations to each 
other, seen in that which now exists between the English and their continen- 
tal neighbors. — Phoenicia an old country in the time of Herodotus. — Its 
decline. — The Greeks probably of Phoenician descent. — Their genius and 
character original. 

" O Solon, Solon," said the Egyptian priest, (I am 
now translating from the Timaeus of Plato,) "you 
Greeks are only children ; there is not an old man to 
be found in Greece." — Solon was surprised to hear the 
priest say so, but as he had traveled thither to acquire 
knowledge, — for at that period Egypt was a classical 
land, and Solon then, and Plato himself afterwards, 
visited the country to gain new light and information 
on the subject of society and philosophy, — Solon then 



294 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

pressed the priest farther to explain his meaning, for he 
considered the remark as almost derogatory to the 
honor of his native country. — " I intend to make no 
injurious reflections on the Greeks," said the priest, 
"but it is a misfortune, which it was not in your power 
to have hindered, that you should have no ancient 
records among you, but that your history should be 
only of more recent events, so that the Greeks may 
be truly considered children and not men, in respect to 
the knowledge of antiquity." — How is that? said 
Solon. You are not aware then, said the priest, what 
catastrophies both of fire and flood have at different 
times and at remote periods extinguished entire nations, 
nay, races of mankind. But from a certain peculiar 
felicity of climate and location, we Egyptians have 
always escaped, and have hence retained among us not 
only the earlier records of our own country, but also 
the authentic traditions of the former distinction and 
fortune of other nations. 

The curiosity of Solon, says Plato, was roused by the 
information, and he requested the priest to tell him all 
he knew respecting the ancient condition of his coun- 
try, and her renown in arts, in philosophy, or in war. 
The priest then proceeded to give an account of the 
ancient fame of Athens, and the extent of her power 
both by land and sea; — but that this was before the 
prevalence of a great flood, and other catastrophies 
which had since that period desolated the country, 
and defaced every vestige of her former glory; — a 
few only had escaped the overwhelming calamity, 
and found a refuge on the highest mountains, whence, 
on the subsidence of the waters and the return of 
the tranquillity of nature, the low land had been re- 
peopled. 

This tradition gives Plato a very fortunate and 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 295 

agreeable location for that imagined republic, the form 
of which he has drawn in such fascinating colors, 
with all the elegance and sweetness of his inimitable 
language. But in his introduction to the subject, he 
makes the Egyptian priest inform Solon, — and no 
doubt a tradition of this sort had reached Plato's 
times, — that there was at the period, when this ante- 
diluvian Athens was in the height of her glory, a 
power of vast extent and domination, the seat of which 
was fixed in certain islands in the Atlantic ocean, 
skirted by an immense continent which lay far beyond 
these. This powerful military state, said the priest, 
the writings of the ancients inform us, extended its 
conquests over most of Europe, and was making en- 
croachments on Asia; — and its principal residence was 
in an island situated in a mighty ocean beyond the 
pillars of Hercules, which island was of greater extent 
than Europe and Africa together, — and from that 
island there was a passage to other islands and thence 
to a continent opposite to them. For that ocean, said 
he, is of such immense extent that this sea included 
within the pillars of Hercules, is but in comparison 
of it a pool. But so formidable had become the inva- 
sions of this powerful Atlantic people, that they threat- 
ened the subjugation of the whole of Asia as well as of 
Europe. But at this very crisis, O Solon, continued 
the priest, your city was renowned above all others for 
its valor and military arts. And therefore while all 
other states were sinking under the dominion of this 
advancing tyranny, they alone single-handed opposed 
the enemy, checked the progress of their arms, and 
rescued the surrounding country from the grasp of 
their ambition. And not contented with this, they 
afterwards led the flower of the republic against their 
insular dominions, — for at that time the Atlantic was 



296 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

navigable; — but then it was those awful catastrophies 
occurred, of which tradition has informed us, earth- 
quakes and inundations succeeded each other, for a 
whole day and night, without intermission, during 
which the Athenian army was engulfed in the ocean, 
and the vast island of Atlantis sunk, and never after- 
wards re-appeared; — and such, added the priest, has 
ever since been the condition of navigation in that ocean, 
from the shoals and dangers of submerged islands, that 
sailors no longer venture to cross it, but have abandoned 
it to the solitary dominion of nature. 

Such is a faithful account of that very interesting, 
but obscure tradition which we find in Plato, respect- 
ing the existence of this continent where we now 
study his philosophy, and read his works, and descry 
that dim twilight of Egyptian science, faintly shadow- 
ing out many things, but distinctly revealing nothing. 

But Plato, as I have said, more anxious to find "a 
local habitation" for his ideal philosophy, than to relate 
true history, discovers in this fabled region of the ante- 
diluvian Athens, a most convenient site of his perfect 
republic. I wish I could give you a sketch of this 
fancied commonwealth, but it would occupy too much 
of our time. I may mention, however, that it differs 
in many most essential points from the constitution of 
this commonwealth, although in others it approximates 
wonderfully. A certain utilitarianism mixes itself 
with all the visions of Plato, and although it was 
impossible for a Grecian to be otherwise than fanciful 
and poetical, yet Plato seems to have been so thor- 
oughly aware of the evils that resulted to his country- 
men from the perversions of mythology, that he was 
for excluding from his commonwealth the writings of 
most of the poets, nor would allow any other ideas of 
the gods to be inculcated, but such as should represent 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 297 

them, as the authors and upholders of the pure moral 
code, and the sterner and more useful virtues of war 
as well as the quiet and unpretending graces of a 
peaceful civil life. 

Plato's republic is however a heterogeneous mixture 
of those elements which he found existing in Greece, 
and the philosophical abstractions or eastern mytholo- 
gies which he had combined with them. It is impos- 
ing, and alluring, and often sublime ; — a beautiful and 
grand theory, not less agreeable to the imagination, 
than the actual view of this government is to the 
reason. On the whole, when you view the republic 
in Plato's mind, and then turn to this which really and 
truly exists, you are forcibly struck that there has been 
a, progress within the last three thousand years in the 
science of government, and in the more practical and 
useful developments of human nature. In what espe- 
cially does this progress consist? whence its origin? 
and what may be its tendency ? — these are interesting 
questions, to which I shall attempt no formal or specific 
reply, but to aid the solution of them, I shall make 
some desultory remarks, and present in this, and the 
succeeding lecture, such views as have occurred to me. 

But first I would observe, that the present situation 
of mankind in respect to government and the general 
complexion of their social condition is infinitely less 
romantic and alluring, than it wont to be, some twenty 
or thirty centuries ago. No doubt there may be some 
considerable illusion in our estimate of the ancient con- 
dition of society on this point, and it may be in a great 
measure true, that here especially, " 'tis distance lends 
enchantment to the view;" but after all due allowance 
of this kind, it will still be found, I think, that the 
progress of society latterly has been affected by the 
sacrifice of not a few of the more agreeable illusions of 

38 



298 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

the imagination, along with the adoption of the more 
solid and practical truths of reason and experience. 

It is indeed this "sober certainty of waking bliss," 
which makes up the entire charm of modern civiliza- 
tion. In regard to this continent, this is strikingly 
seen in the fact, that it has hitherto been found impos- 
sible, and I suspect always will be, to get up any thing 
in the shape of good or inspiring poetry, on the subject 
of its early history and first settlement; — the whole 
back-ground of events is so closed up with stubborn 
unyielding fact, — glaring in the daylight of ordinary 
and secular experience, that imagination finds it impos- 
sible to invest the subject in any degree with the color- 
ing of romance : — every body knows so well how the 
whole came to pass, — and how each incident took its 
place and went to compose the actual whole, that it 
cannot be made to appear anything else but what it is; 
the pilgrims landed on such a spot, — on such a year, — 
on such a month, — on such a day of the month, — so 
many hours and so many minutes before sun-set ; and 
then we know precisely what kind of people they 
were : we have their books and their letters and their 
speeches, — all very good, very excellent sense; they 
were a positive, determined sort of people, — quite 
headstrong, no doubt conscientious, perhaps much 
better people than the early settlers of Greece, that 
land of philosophy and song: but you cannot make 
poetry out of the Puritans, as you could out of the 
Greeks ; there is too much day light and reality about 
them; — they refuse to be represented in the hues of 
romance, and their memories now seem as little tolerant 
of ornament, as their persons formerly were. 

Why need I dwell on this topic ? — it is quite evident 
to all ; — look round on every period of the early settle- 
ment of this country, you find the whole hung with 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 299 

the sober drapery of reason, common sense, practical 
religion, commercial or agricultural enterprise, but in 
vain do you look for the gay hues and fascinating deco- 
rations of poetry and romance. 

Now this very remarkable distinction has had, and 
will continue to have, a singular influence on the 
whole character and destiny of this nation : its origin 
has no mystery in it, no obscurity, no twilight, — no 
shadows on which the spirits of the morn are reflected to 
the eye of enthusiasm, and enchant and elevate the mind. 
And we will here venture the assertion, that had such 
been the original situation of the Greeks and earlier 
nations, they never would have reached that peculiar 
state of beautiful and interesting civilization which dis- 
tinguished them, and, were it not for one grand fact 
and consideration presently to be mentioned, I would 
also say, that this absolutely prosaic and philosophical 
origin were a misfortune also to this nation, just as it 
might be regarded as a defect in the education of a 
youth, that no part of his childhood had been passed in 
the innocency and sweetness of rural life. The effects 
of such softening influences, even if illusive, are bene- 
ficial to the individual in the maturity of life ; — but the 
application of the comparison I recall as respects this 
nation, and from the one consideration I am now to 
mention, which is this : — In the Greek and ancient 
nations their entire religion was reflected to them from 
the back ground of their original history, and therefore 
it behoved that all the events of it be enwrapped in a 
sweet and solemn mystery, in order that their enlarge- 
ment and extension and mystification might afford 
materials ample and glorious enough, on which such 
divine ideas as all religions implicate might be seen 
and exhibited, and vividly impressed. With them, 
therefore, their heaven and earth were woven into one 



300 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

continuous tissue, — you travel backward on their his- 
tory, and before you are aware of any line of transition 
you find yourself in a land of enchantment, a region 
of dreams, wherein Saturn and Jupiter and Mars and 
Neptune and Venus and Apollo were born, the patri- 
archs of the nation itself, — the fathers of their fathers. 
But it is evident that if the events of their early settle- 
ment had been as well defined to them as the history 
of the Puritans is to us, they never could have moulded 
them into that form of religion which was in many 
respects so pleasing, while it retained its simplicity, and 
in some perhaps not without use. For a religion such 
as this, and made up of such materials as these, had 
nevertheless, we may presume, from the insemination 
of true seeds into it from the just God, a meaning and 
a power, and a beneficent sway over the future civili- 
zation of the people, which resulted in all those beauti- 
ful forms of just and native art, still regarded with 
admiration. 

But a peculiarity in this respect marks the fate of 
this nation ; for those feelings of mystery and devotion 
which are the best elements of human nature, its con- 
servative elements, and in which is to be enthroned the 
admiration of all that is good and true, are designed 
here to be detached from place and history, in order to 
be turned and devoted to Christianity, a religion purely 
divine and spiritual, no longer local, but catholic and 
elevated, — a religion, the true source of all that is ven- 
erable and dear to the rational minds of a thinking 
people: for here it is not the soil, or the air, or the 
rivers, or the seas, that draw the love and the admira- 
tion and the regards of the citizens so much as those 
benevolent and equal laws, those republican and well- 
balanced constitutions which from this religion alone 
have derived their entire character— their consistency 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 301 

and power : and it is this consideration alone which 
can exalt the feelings and purify the passions of this 
people, and produce that new civilization here which 
will be moral, benevolent and useful, and hence beauti- 
ful : and here is the native fountain of it ; — I can see 
no other. I have had occasion to show that the " amor 
patriae" among the Romans was a decidedly local attach- 
ment : the local attachment in the American nation is 
slight ; it is a moral and political attachment chiefly 
which binds them to their country and to each other ; 
this is a remarkable feature of the civilization which is 
designed to prevail here. 

I note then the following points as worthy of consi- 
deration, and as exhibiting an interesting contrast : 

I. The religion of the ancients was local and na- 
tional ; it affected the fancy and imagination primarily, 
and in the greatest degree, — the reason more remotely, 
and if it touched the heart, it may be doubted whether 
it affected it most to good or evil, — although most deci- 
dedly for good in the ages of the greatest simplicity. 
But it was from this source chiefly their civilization 
flowed, and it was marked by all these peculiarities, — 
it was romantic and delusive, fleeting and unsteady, 
the parent of poetry and the fine arts, and the foster- 
mother of genius and taste. 

II. The religion of the moderns is spiritual and 
catholic, not founded or dependent on local and histo- 
rical associations. Their histories are of matters of 
fact, and place is to them invested only with that natu- 
ral beauty and grandeur felt equally by all hearts alive 
to the perceptions of wisdom and benevolence — that 
Divine Presence which fills the universe. From this 
source our civilization flows, and is rational and moral, 
and, if true to itself, will be permanent, and in its 
last perfection will be productive of poetry and music 



302 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

and other beautiful arts, but of a totally distinct kind 
from those which at present exist. 

The second grand feature, next to that of religion, 
which pre-eminently distinguishes modern from an- 
cient civilization, is the assiduous and serious cultiva- 
tion of the useful arts, and the honor which awaits 
them. By the useful arts, I mean such as are popu- 
larly so considered, not merely such as are necessary 
and indispensable, but such also as add to physical com- 
fort, convenience and enjoyment : but in popular esti- 
mation under the class of useful arts are not included 
of course those which are accounted liberal, and which 
administer delight chiefly to the mind through the in- 
fluence of taste and the moral sensibilities. These last 
appear to have existed in greater vigor in earlier times 
than at present, at least as to their essential ingredients, 
the beauty and sublimity of the conception: perhaps 
the mechanical execution may be superior now. But 
what music must that have been, of which even the 
bare mention by Homer and other earlier poets is so 
rapturous and sweet as to delight us more than even 
the finest strains of modern times ; and what must 
have been the felicity of design displayed in sculp- 
ture, — those figures embossed on brass or marble, 
when none can read even now a description of them, 
as that of the shield of Achilles, without feelings of 
the warmest enthusiasm. There is not a page of 
Homer or Virgil that does not supply subjects for the 
most exquisite paintings, and the descriptions particu- 
larly of the latter seem to me to have been borrowed 
in many instances from actual works of art ; his poetry 
wears upon it the impress of sculpture. 

And yet among these people, the Greeks especially, 
the convenient and economical arts seem to have been 
but little appreciated. The palace of Ulysses presents 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 303 

to the imagination about as much domestic comfort or 
convenience as a modern barn might supply; the 
queen, his wife, spun or wove above stairs in a kind of 
garret room with her servants or maids, — and below, 
Ulysses caroused with his companions in a large hall, 
or rather lumber-room. But here, amid this rude- 
ness or destitution of domestic convenience and ele- 
gance, there was nevertheless a certain display of mag- 
nificence. The arts of design were not unknown, to 
enliven the imagination, — to impress the images of 
religion, — to touch the heart with true feeling : all the 
tender, all the delicate sentiments of nature had food 
administered to them ; the divine art of song, and the 
art of language mingled with music, which took the 
soul captive and lapped it in Elysium. O where, 
when, is there now such absolute forgetfulness of all 
care, by the interposition of the song or the romantic 
tale ? How dull and prosaic are all our entertain- 
ments ; and even if a work of true genius, whether of 
the hand or voice, be executed, you can easily see that 
it is the mechanism that is admired by the dull spirit 
of modern amateurs, rather than the soul or the feeling 
therein. There is less rapture in the mental enjoy- 
ments of modern society, but perhaps there may be 
more benevolence ; undoubtedly there is a milder and 
apparently a more rational spirit and regard for utility : 
and one large class — all but the majority — have ob- 
tained much more dignity and independnce, — 1 mean 
that class engaged in the useful or economical arts. 

If any one will take an estimate of how many pro- 
ducts of mechanical art and ingenuity he is possessed 
of, in his house or about his person, which are not 
necessary to his health, although they may be to his 
comfort or sense of elegance, his artificial or acquired 
tastes, he will be able to form some idea of the extent of 



304 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

this department of modern civilization and refinement. 
Perhaps nearly five sixths of all a man considers neces- 
sary to him, but which is not so, is of this description. 
If therefore the whole number of industrious manual- 
ists in a community were to be reckoned six thousand, 
five thousand of these would be found to be engaged in 
the practice of the arts which are dignified by the name 
of useful, but which are not such in any other sense 
than that mankind have agreed to use them ; and that 
those who are employed in the execution of them are 
precluded by this requisition on their labor from en- 
gaging in acts of mischief, and enabled to procure by 
the use of their hands a comfortable subsistence for 
which they might otherwise have had to depend in the 
character of vassals or body servants or military free- 
booters, on the generous bounty of a patron, or a 
master, or a leader. 

It is the extensive introduction of the mechanical and 
economical arts, and the demand for their products, 
under the idea of imaginary necessaries of life, that has 
laid the foundation of the respectability, and elevated 
to such a pitch of true nobleness, the character of this 
very large class of mankind, who could indeed have 
been otherwise supported, and even in idleness, but 
only by the sacrifice of their honor and freedom to 
the owners of the soil, or the possessors of political or 
other authority and influence. Thus also have been 
developed the arts and love of peace, by which alone 
such ingenuity and industry can be fostered ; and the 
disposition to war has been checked and in a great 
measure restrained. Nevertheless these useful and 
economical arts wear an exceedingly sober, and as it 
were, anti-sentimental aspect. The Greeks not unfre- 
quently express their disapprobation and abhorrence of 
them. All the necessary and liberal arts they abun- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 305 

dantly praised and admired, such as those of agriculture 
on the one hand, or sculpture and painting on the 
other: and modern times still retain something of this 
species of repugnance ; and it is in fact the assiduous 
cultivation of these arts in America, that renders the 
tone of society often unpleasant to aristocratical tourists 
from the old world : but philosophy cannot condescend 
to enlist itself on the side of national prejudices either 
for or against such pursuits. 

It is certainly absurd to hear the epithet useful ap- 
plied exclusively to those mechanical arts, four fifths of 
which at least are not even necessary, while entire na- 
tions have succeeded in living very virtuously and use- 
fully without even a knowledge of their existence. I 
say it is ridiculous to apply the term useful exclusively 
to such occupations, and consider such pursuits as those 
of literature, science or theology, as something different, 
not useful, but merely elegant or ornamental, indeed, 
and neither the students nor the teachers of them to be 
as well deserving of reward as other men. — I say philo- 
sophy must condemn this as irrational, but at the same 
time she must be allowed to rejoice in the astonishing 
expansion of the mechanical and economical arts of the 
present era, as at once the best securities, and the surest 
tokens of the freedom and dignity designed for so large 
a portion of the human race. And although it must be 
allowed, that an exclusive devotion to these as well as 
to any other object of pursuit must contract the mind, 
yet who cannot see here again in the rational and pure 
indulgence of the generous glow of elevated sentiment, 
inspired by the Christian religion, the proper counter- 
action to all that narrowness of spirit, which the Greek 
and Roman dreaded so much, and for which their reli- 
gions afforded but little remedy. 

I note then as the second grand characteristic of the 

39 



306 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

modern or new civilization, the extended and active 
cultivation of those arts, which are strictly mechanical 
and economical, useful but not absolutely necessary, 
and I deduce the following advantages from them : 

First, that they secure the individual and personal 
independence of the workmen, and teach them to 
look to their own hands, and minds, and God, for 
their freedom, and distinction, and support. Secondly, 
that they diminish the natural disposition to war, and 
foster the spirit of peace. Thirdly, that by the implan- 
tation of the seeds of Christianity in such firm ground, 
and well improved, the human character is exalted; 
and he who would otherwise be, and indeed was in 
Greece and Rome a drudge or dependent, becomes or 
can become a philosopher and a sage. Fourthly, I see 
in this the best security, as I have also seen the rise, of 
a true republican character, and republican country. 

For the present, I shall take no more particular 
notice of these distinctive features of the natural state 
of man, as it exists at present, and as it existed twenty 
centuries ago. For I am now desirous in the remain- 
der of this lecture, since such is the importance of the 
arts, and such the illustration they cast upon our sub- 
ject, to attend further to their origin, and enquire 
among what people they have arisen, to view especially 
their rise among the Phoenicians ; — the natural history 
of which race I am extremely anxious to bring to its 
close, with a glance at that of the Greek and Roman in 
this lecture. 

But first I would note, and here I believe I but recal 
an observation I before made in a previous lecture, that 
all the arts are just as much a part of man, and belong- 
ing also to his natural history, as the instincts of ani- 
mals to theirs. But a remarkable distinction of man 
lies in this, that while in the animals their arts are 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 307 

born with them, in the full gloss of perfection, inscribed 
very perfectly and graphically on the animal soul, there 
being no new editions or improvements ever to be 
made, in man on the contrary, only the aptitude and 
predisposition to the arts is innate; he has learned 
nothing at the time of his birth, but is to learn seem- 
ingly every thing ; he is hence capable of consciously 
understanding all he does ; and there is a progress in 
him from darkness to light; and in the species too, not 
less than in the individual. And this wonderful char- 
acter is visible also in his body: there is in it, particular- 
ly in his hands, an aptitude for all arts, but an exclusive 
confinement to no one in particular ; his hands are not 
tools, but instruments to make tools. In the animals 
you observe it is different ; the anterior extremities of 
the mole for instance, are used as a pick-axe and shovel, 
while the hinder serve to remove the accumulated dirt; 
but then these extremities or hands are fitted only for 
this office, not for others ; it makes but a poor figure 
above ground. Again, the arched neck and the webbed 
feet of the swan or the duck, excellently adapted for 
swimming, are rather an impediment than otherwise 
to progression on land. In short the bodies of animals 
have natural machinery, or tools attached to them, and 
these the very images and signs of their full fledged 
instincts, giving an exclusive and confined character to 
each species. Man with his reason and hand stands 
disengaged from all this exclusiveness and speciality; 
and none can tell those natural arts, which he is to put 
forth, until he has made an essay of his powers ; and 
opportunity or necessity either invites or urges him, to 
call into being those devices and inventions of which 
the germs and aptitudes have lain treasured up within 
him. Who could think that in that naked biped, wan- 
dering melancholy and forlorn amid the woods, appa- 



308 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

rently the neglected outcast of nature, there were yet 
concealed such capabilities of divine excellence. From 
such a being as that, was to spring up that family of 
enterprising navigators, the Phoenician race, — or the 
other family of sculptors and poets, the Greek race. 

But let me first take up this Phoenician, and see 
what singular arts and improvements sprung from him. 
To him, I need not tell you, the perfection of the 
economical art of dyeing is due : the Tyrian purple is 
proverbial; and that is said to have been such, that 
even modern art cannot now reach it. This is a tri- 
fling instance, but it shows an origin among this people 
of that species of the economical arts, whose profusion 
we consider the glory of the present times; and the 
established means, on which account the philosopher 
will consider them principally useful, whereby the 
independence, and freedom, and enlightenment of so 
large a class of people is secured. 

Of what real value is it, you say, to mankind, whether 
their garments have a bright, or yellow, or a dun tint, 
or whether that be fading or permanent, so long as the 
fabric holds together. I say it is of no indispensable 
value or use at all under this light; and if art had no 
other use than this, I would disdain to trace it to its 
source ; philosophy spurns the mere trappings of vanity 
and ostentation. But we discover in it something bet- 
ter than this; we see in that natural passion of the 
human soul, for splendid or elegant dress, an excite- 
ment which rouses from their slumbers the faculties of 
human invention, and in the institution of mechanical 
arts, secures the personal and individual dependence of 
men on one another; for true and rational freedom 
consists in this, that my skill is necessary to your 
gratification ; and thus the natural love of ostentation in 
A, becomes the very ground of his respect and defe- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 309 

rence to the superior manual dexterity of B. The rise 
of the economical arts in Tyre, was the rise of those 
useful arts, or beautiful mechanical works, on which 
repose at least one of the pillars which support the 
dome of American freedom. As the foundations of a 
continent are laid deep, and are early begun, and long 
in building, — so we see the very means of a nation's 
distinction and happiness long in preparing, before 
even its very existence is in the slightest degree fore- 
seen. We are not far from home then, when in Phoe- 
nicia : for her turn of mind, and bent of character in 
her better days was not very different from our own. 

The Phoenicians circumnavigated Africa in the 
reign of Necho, king of Egypt. This fact Herodotus 
learned from the priests of Egypt when he visited that 
country 480 years before Christ. You will find this 
event generally treated as a fable by historians, and 
Irving, who has collected a great many other traditions 
respecting the voyages of the ancients, does not even 
mention it. But Herodotus is good authority, and by 
no means disposed to fabricate materials for his history ; 
he may always be relied upon, when he states what he 
saw or heard. There is no doubt, therefore, that he 
received from the priests of Egypt the account he has 
transmitted to us of the circumnavigation of Africa ; it 
is indeed possible they may have deceived him, but one 
circumstance which he relates in the narrative of the 
priests, as of doubtful credit, proves to us the veracity 
of the narrators. He mentions that the expedition 
took up two years, and in the autumn, when they had 
advanced far to the south, they landed on the coast, 
tilled a portion of the land, and waited for the return 
of the crop ; and that afterwards, in pursuing the voy- 
age homewards, the sun appeared northward of them 
on the right hand, and that they returned by the straits 



310 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

of Gibraltar, — the pillars of Hercules. This circum- 
stance of the sun being seen on their right, must have 
occurred by their being beyond the southern tropic. 
Herodotus, however, did not discredit the account he 
received of the expedition, but only this particular cir- 
cumstance in it; which proves to be the very incident 
in the narrative which should establish the truth of it 
in modern times. 

This one authenticated fact, then, speaks more than 
volumes could have done of the daring and enterprise 
of the Phoenicians. And from that period, down to 
the year 1497, such navigation was not successfully 
attempted ; nay, even doubt and suspicion were thrown 
over the whole transaction ; still, however, a certain 
faint hope and probability of the circumnavigation of 
Africa seems to have been entertained. And it was 
probably this, which at last led to the accomplishment 
or renewal of the enterprise by the Portuguese in 1496 
— a very considerable interval of time; but so long, 
perhaps, was it necessary to prepare mankind for that 
new era of improvement which was then ushered in. 
As some philosophers have supposed that the bent of 
each man's mind is determined by certain events of his 
infancy, the faint recollections of which affect his future 
career ; so it may be in the history of mankind, cer- 
tain occurrences in ages too remote for authentic his- 
tory, may be the causes afterwards which impel men 
to the greatest enterprises of similar character. 

The possibility of circumnavigating Africa, after it 
was once effected, although previously in a great mea- 
sure disbelieved, was never positively denied. Very 
similar was it in regard to America ; there is no histor- 
ical document to show that such continent had ever 
been before visited; yet faint and obscure surmises 
were long afloat in the minds of men on that subject. 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 311 

But it is very much in regard to such things, as it is in 
respect to a point of still greater interest to the human 
family ; the fact of the Christian revelation rests on 
the possibility of an intercourse of human minds with 
unseen intelligences; and yet this possibility, never 
doubted at one period of the world, but taken as a 
familiar and indisputable truth, is now neither believed 
nor disbelieved; — it is an obscure tradition in the 
minds of most persons, but no longer a practical and 
lucid conviction. 

But the circumnavigation of Africa is not the only 
benefit for which we are indebted to the Phoenicians, 
for, inasmuch as it gave the first early impulse to dis- 
covery, we maintain that this new world is very consi- 
derably beholden to them even in this respect. But 
this is not the whole extent of our obligations to them; 
they are also justly considered to have been the inven- 
tors of alphabetic writing ; Lucan has so represented it. 

If this be so, the benefit of commerce to the world 
is now signalized by this, more than by any other dis- 
covery or invention. And if you will reflect upon it, 
you may see reason to conclude that this invention 
should have sprung up among a commercial people, 
rather than any other. It is true the natural desire of 
being known to posterity, and of having their great or 
good acts emblazoned in the memories of after ages, 
might incite mankind to the invention of various con- 
trivances, by which that might be effected; such as 
monuments of brick, or stone, or earth ; paintings, or 
sculptures representing the particulars of events desired 
to be remembered ; but yet all this is not a matter of 
prime necessity, and there is no strong present motive, 
urging to the accomplishment of it : and even this pro- 
vision for the remembrance of themselves by posterity, 
has a feeling of benevolence in it, which is not likely 



312 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

to have much influence on the selfishness of mankind, 
amid other matters of pressing necessity. We would 
conclude then, that the art of writing was not very 
likely to spring from such a feeble origin ; it had some 
stronger reason, some more present motive for its inven- 
tion ; and that we can readily see in commerce. 

The distant voyages of the Phoenicians, the compli- 
cations of their traffic with foreign countries and among 
themselves, would soon call for a more expeditious, cer- 
tain, and practical method of recording their transac- 
tions, and transmitting them, than hieroglyphics af- 
forded. These answered admirably well for theology, 
where the imagination, or heart, was designed to be 
moved or enlightened ; but the business of merchants 
has very little to do with these, and requires chiefly 
accuracy, distinctness, and absolute security against 
error, in its ordinary and recorded details. Here then, 
as in all other cases, "necessity was the mother of 
invention." It was this which sharpened the genius of 
the Phoenician, and produced for himself an immediate 
instrument of communication with others, in the adop- 
tion of alphabetic writing, and for after ages, the 
imperishable medium of transmitting to posterity the 
most positive and just information regarding the actions 
and thoughts of men. 

Mankind, for the most part, we may say always, look 
at that which is immediate, and the source of instant 
and palpable gratification ; but at the same time there 
is another power employed in rendering all such mea- 
sures subservient to its own eternal designs. The 
Divine Providence always respects that which is eter- 
nal; and here in the ordinary and quiet pursuits of 
commerce, among this plodding, but at the same time 
great minded people, you see an invention spring up, its 
extensive uses unknown to them, and intended only for 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 313 

commercial convenience; which was nevertheless de- 
signed to be the medium of conveying to the most dis- 
tant ages, and to a continent perhaps, not yet visited by 
men, not only the results of human experience in arts, 
in government and morals, but even the revealed docu- 
ments themselves of that divine religion, whose value 
is not yet even the millionth part known, or apprecia- 
ted by man ; and yet what a change has it already pro- 
duced on the face of the world ! 

This is one of those curious and interesting relations 
of events, which discover themselves to us at every 
turn, in studying carefully the natural history of our 
species; the corresponding or correlative parts of a 
magnificent design, showing themselves at intervals, 
often many thousand years apart, or with half the globe 
intervening. And indeed, who can doubt that reflects 
upon it, that the globe itself is rendered productive of 
various fruits and treasures, at distant localities, that so 
the human mind might be excited to action and friendly 
intercourse, that the chain which binds the nations into 
one, in the bands of friendship and mutual respect, 
should be composed and woven out of those various 
materials of use, of which the globe is prolific. See 
the Tyrian, three thousand years ago, unfurling his 
sails and plying his oars, and visiting every harbor of 
the Mediterranean, and venturing even beyond the 
straits, on unknown and unploughed seas, and bringing 
home from all those parts, the novelties and rarities of 
their climates and soil ; and not only this, but what is 
of infinitely more worth, as regards the progress and 
expansion of the minds of the species, his soul fraught 
with new impressions, replete with thoughts of fresh 
enterprise, or connected in bands of firmer sympathy 
with the wider brotherhood of his race ; — reflect on 
these remote, these almost unknown or forgotten trans- 

40 



314 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

actions, and you will see how the formation of a far 
wider republic of mankind than we have yet seen, 
approached, indeed, in some degree in our own, has 
been in the view of nature from the earliest ages. 

There is a plan as certainly laid here for the ultimate 
perfection of mankind, and their full moral growth, 
although of infinite extent ; as that miniature design 
we see pursued for the physical and moral expansion of 
the individual, according to which, those brawny arms 
and stalwart limbs, that distinguish the full-grown 
man, are first moulded in tiny forms in his mother's 
womb ; and that mind at last illuminated by the rays 
of science, and hallowed by the light of religion, has at 
first much to do to discern day from night, or to mark 
the grossest distinctions of objects. 

" The noble art from Cadmus took its rise," — the art 
of writing. It was justly, that men in ancient times 
ascribed all their inventions to divine power, for the end 
of these is actually so designed ; but nevertheless, we 
cannot err much in ascribing the immediate sensible 
invention of them by men, to that form of necessity of 
which I have spoken ; not a gentle or slight necessity, 
but a very urgent one, such as that I have shown the 
complications of commerce to be in this instance. 

The Egyptians were devoted entirely to agriculture ; 
and the priests were an established caste ; they rather 
shunned the contact of strangers, than sought it ; hence 
the repose of all their institutions. A dull, heavy fog 
seems to hang over the valley of the Nile, even from 
the earliest ages, to shroud their mysteries, — to shut 
them out from the vision of the world ; here therefore, 
is the indistinct hieroglyphic, the heavy architecture ; 
magnificence without taste, expense without elegance, 
power without activity. In such an atmosphere, the 
origins of arts, in their most rude and chaotic elements, 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 31 5 

may be supposed to have existed ; and indeed, Herodo- 
tus says, that geometry sprung up in this country, from 
the necessity of restoring the old land-marks, which 
the annual overflowing of the Nile constantly oblitera- 
ted. But neither geometry, nor hieroglyphics, — the 
first rude attempt at w T riting, — could receive the neces- 
sary modification or real perfection among such a peo- 
ple. They were too much shut out from intercourse 
with the rest of mankind ; they were too much addicted 
to a national vanity and conceit ; it needed a people of 
nimbler hands, and clearer heads, and readier move- 
ments; a people whose wits were sharpened by com- 
merce, and their prejudices dispelled by frequent con- 
tact and collisions with their neighbors, to devise 
improvements, to shake off that overweening reverence 
for antiquity, which is the great bar to discovery, and 
to inspire that becoming self-confidence, which is per- 
haps necessary to prompt to useful inventions and salu- 
tary improvements. 

There is perhaps, therefore, as little reason to wonder 
that the Phoenicians, (when such was their character,) 
should have made the great transition from hierogly- 
phic to alphabetic writing, — the idea of writing itself 
having been already suggested, — as that the present 
commercial people of New England, also devoted to a 
sea-life, and visiting all parts of the world, should have 
such a turn, if not for inventing, at least for improving. 
They and the English occupy nearly the same relation 
to certain other parts of the world at present, which 
the Phoenicians did to certain of their neighbors in 
ancient times. And it will, on impartial examination, 
be found, that this entire race in modern times have 
been by no means so remarkable for invention and ori- 
ginal discovery, as for the suggestion and adoption of 
improvements. They have what are called practical 



316 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

understandings ; a happy knack of turning every thing 
to their own advantage, whether in the way of reputa- 
tion, or the acquisition of wealth ; and this arises from 
their ready wit, sharpened by their extensive com- 
merce ; they are what Napoleon correctly, although 
invidiously, designated a nation of shop-keepers. But 
these popular slurs are not the language which philoso- 
phy would adopt ; she, on the contrary, regards the 
genius and pursuit of every people with the same hene- 
ficent and friendly concern, and she sees in the situa- 
lion of that intrepid and enterprising people, as well as 
of their brethren on this side of the Atlantic — the pop- 
ulation of New England — those circumstances and 
pursuits which are favorable to clear-sightedness and 
the dispersion of prejudices ; and which, conducting 
therefore to that species of merit which is second only 
to that which is noblest and most divine, leads them 
directly to improve and apply discoveries^ to devise the 
methods of applications, which to the general eye is 
itself more than the discovery. But in the continental 
mind of Europe, especially in Germany, there is more 
of that quiet, serene reflection, which always first 
receives the truth from heaven, but frequently in such 
a shape and form, that it cannot be used. 

You have a good instance of this relation of the 
English mind, to those of other nations, in the case of 
Newton in respect to Kepler and Galileo. Kepler and 
Galileo, were the real discoverers; rather Kepler, 
dreaming about the mystery of numbers, until he 
actually discovered that law, the square of the periodic 
times as the cubes of the distances of the planets 
from the sun, which was the real key, whereby New- 
ton afterwards unlocked the palace of nature. Such 
were his powers of combination, his vigorous clear- 
headedness ; but yet there is a coldness about his char- 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 317 

acter, (notwithstanding he was a good man,) which 
you do not find either in Galileo or Kepler. 

But in following out these illustrations, have I forgot 
the commerce of the Phoenicians? I have not; hut 
rather the fact, that the natural productions of diffe- 
rent regions are various, (which is the true basis of 
commerce, the civilizer and enlightener of men,) re- 
minds me of this other analogous truth, that genius 
also, and the mental products of nations are different ; 
and that while to one people it is given to originate, 
to another is assigned the task of improvement and 
application, which indeed is also invention, although 
not so properly discovery. And the art of alphabetic 
writing, which arose naturally, perhaps necessarily, out 
of the situation, and circumstances of the Phoenicians, 
was indeed a wonderful invention, but flowed in a 
certain measure from the hieroglyphics before used; 
but yet the step was an immense one, for it gave 
decision and accuracy, where obscurity and indistinct- 
ness before reigned. And it was not till at least three 
thousand years after that period, that the art of printing 
began in Germany ; — a comparatively modern step of 
this grand art of embodying and transferring thought, 
by which means chiefly it is that ancient history has 
been secured to us ; and that we are now enabled from 
relics of former generations to collect these items and 
notices of the natural progress of our species, to have a 
part, a little part, of that immense design, by which 
the whole family of mankind, is being carried forward 
to an unknown point of glorious and beneficent per- 
fection. 

It is a sad thing to trace the degeneracy of this great 
Phoenician race ; and as I adverted to it enough in a 
former lecture, I may be allowed now to pursue the 
pleasanter task of recording the fresh and blooming 



318 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

glories of its youth. The circumnavigation of Africa, 
I place first as a matter of absolute certainty; the 
invention of alphabetic writing next, as of great tradi- 
tional probability, and the natural offspring of their 
genius so employed. 

But those arts of peace, which they seem to have 
cultivated from the earliest times, and the example 
they set to the nations of a useful, and yet inoffensive 
activity, were not the least of the benefits which they 
conferred on mankind. Homer frequently speaks of 
them, as distinguished by their wealth, and their 
arts, in his time; and when Herodotus visited their 
city in the year 400 B. C. to enquire concerning the 
worship of Hercules, he found a temple had been 
erected in honor of that hero, which had stood, accor- 
ding to the information he received, 2300 years. 

It is interesting to follow him in his tour through 
that country ; himself a Grecian, from a country which 
was then in her prime of youth, elastic, joyous ; with a 
language more beautiful than it ever afterwards ap- 
peared; for although it became more mature, and 
vigorous, in the hands of Plato and Demosthenes; — 
yet it was never again so youthfully graceful, as exhib- 
ited in Herodotus, — the perfect and enchanting body 
of the Grecian mind, comely, athletic, unaffectedly 
natural. And such also was then the nation of 
Greece, when Herodotus visited Phoenicia and Egypt. 
They were then to Herodotus, the old country; and 
indeed all the particulars he relates regarding their 
existing state, impress you with a feeling of decay; 
their people, their constitutions were worn out; and 
youthful Greece had just entered on her grand career; 
the battle of Marathon had made her power to be felt 
and dreaded to the very centre of Asia; and it was 
about ten or twenty years after that battle that Hero- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 319 

dotus begun his travels. Yet more than one hundred 
years after this, we find Xenophon, the disciple of 
Socrates, expressing his admiration of the Phoenicians ; 
but chiefly for their admirable prudence and skill in 
navigation. Xenophon was a great lover of method 
and order in his affairs, and in recommending the 
observation of this virtue to others, he gives as an ex- 
ample of the most perfect order and arrangement, — a 
Phoenician galley; where there was a place for every 
thing, and every thing in its place, and no place which 
was not filled. Nautical order and neatness were con- 
spicuous every where. But, alas! these virtues of 
economy, and prudence, and skill, could not save them, 
could not preserve them from that fate that was mark- 
ed out for them, surrounded as they were by states 
and nations, inspired by military enthusiasm, and 
whose code of honor taught them that it was more 
becoming their natural station, to despoil their neigh- 
bors of their wealth and treasure, than to acquire it for 
themselves by the slow and steady arts of peace. 

The commercial spirit was thirty centuries too early 
to be exclusively cultivated; the ancient nations had 
few lights of experience to guide them right. The 
fate of Tyre, the fate of Carthage are well known, the 
one fell under the hands of Alexander, the other was 
levelled to the ground, through the triumphant and 
atrocious ambition of the Romans ; yet who were these 
Greeks, who were these Romans ? There is every 
reason to believe that the Greeks at least, were a scion 
mainly of the Phoenician stock itself, separated from it 
while it was still fresh and vigorous, — and in this 
respect better fortuned than either the Spaniards or 
Britons, whom I showed in my last lecture, had re- 
tained some of the worst features of the old age and 
decrepitude of the Phoenician race. The Greeks them- 



320 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

selves looked back upon Phoenicia, as in some respect a 
mother-land. The Cadmus who invented letters, set- 
tled afterwards Thebes in the centre of Greece, and 
introduced the arts of industry and refinement, and his 
name and the settlement were afterwards the theme of 
the fondest poetry and the most lovely and luxuriant 
mythologies, clustering like tendrils around his name, 
in the fairest and most perfect emblems, emblazon- 
ing at once his own signal merit, and the warm grati- 
tude of his descendants. I judge from the Phoenissae 
of Euripides, that the entire religion of Boeotia was 
transplanted from Tyre ; but before it had assumed that 
dark and lived hue, which it afterwards put on, proba- 
bly in the decline of commerce; — when the very 
heavens of their imaginations were shaded by the 
misfortunes and dishonor of their country, and took 
the cast of their own dismal minds. 

Herodotus expressly mentions, that the Pelasgi, the 
old and original inhabitants of Greece, worshipped 
the gods, but without a name; and that their names 
were derived from the Egyptians and Phoenicians; and 
that the very name «»« W as derived from e« to arrange, 
because they noted that remarkable arrangement or 
order of the world, to be the peculiar feature of the 
works of divine power. 

But whatever local origin we may attribute to the 
Greeks, whether Phoenician or other, certain it is that 
their mental origin, their intellectual genius cannot be 
mistaken ; it was no borrowed ray from other lands ; it 
was freely shed upon them, that heaven as it were, 
might exhibit to the admiration of mankind, the most 
perfect examples of minds perfected by the harmonious 
combination of equal endowments of genius and of 
taste, and both in the highest degree. We have enough 
of the extravagant, and exorbitant, in the writers of 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 321 

modern times, and among the orientals,* but where but 
in Greece, do you find the ardency of irresistible 
genius, so tempered and beautified by the most perfect 
taste, as to be gracefulness itself! Their governments 
for the most part were democracies * and it was here 
popular freedom first endured her apprenticeship, it 
was here that were spread out and embodied those 
experiences, whose lights served afterwards to conduct 
to safe and well balanced constitutions, first in the 
English, and lastly in the American nation, — when it 
first entered on its career of independent nationality. 
What a fund of valuable reflections Grecian history 
afforded to those excellent and enlightened men, who 
were chiefly instrumental by their voice and pen, in 
laying the foundations of the American constitution, is 
evident not only from the speeches which remain, but 
from those papers of the " Federalist," where the ele- 
mentary principles of good government are elucidated 
and enforced, with such admirable and profound good 
sense. Jefferson, although a man very imperfect in ma- 
ny respects, had those true stamina of character and of 
philosophy, which led him to seek, and to find, the just 
principles of a sound government, amid those fragments 
of republics and monarchies, with which the ground of 
ancient history is strewn, — particularly Grecian* — 
there was something genuine and sterling, in that sys- 
tem of government, which encouraged such minds as 
theirs; and there was something unsated, too, since that 
greatness had so brief a date, and so passed away like a 
morning vision ; never since restored in those climes, so 
favored by nature, with all the advantages, which the 
most genial soil and atmosphere can give. 

This branch of the Phoenician race, if they were 
Phoenicians, quickly grew, quickly withered. The 
Roman lasted longer ; — but its mental contours are far 

41 



322 LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. 

less interesting. I need not trouble you with sketches 
of the history of either race. With respect to the 
Greeks and Romans, they have bequeathed to us their 
languages, those still vital forms of their immortal 
minds, if we will but avail ourselves of the legacy; 
but with respect to the other races, British, Spanish, 
and others, their bodies are stocks, whence no inconsi- 
derable part of the population of the New World 
seems destined to arise. May they equal the glory of 
their sires, may they rise superior to it ; may all the 
virtues here, at last, find their home ; and may a just, 
wise, constitutional, firm and beneficent freedom pre- 
serve mankind at once from the tyranny of their own 
passions, and the oppression of each other. 

The Phoenicians themselves were the peaceful cul- 
tivators of those mechanical and economical arts, and 
the type of the industrious races of this western conti- 
nent ; but they arose in an unpropitious era, and fell ; 
for they had no religion, analogous to Christianity, 
whose precepts might have added dignity and gran- 
deur to the simple and laborious arts of peace. The 
second Phoenicia now rises under the auspices of the 
Christian religion, and will be sheltered beneath its 
shade. Such is the omen we draw from the indications 
of the times. 



LECTURE THE TWELFTH; 



ON THE 



ELEMENTS OF AMERICAN CIVILIZATION. 



Elements of the civilization of ancient times local and national; in the New 
World they are of an abstract character. — The condition of a nation at any 
period of its history, the result of all influences which have previously 
acted upon it. — Argument, that the American will be a diffused and popular 
civilization, from the structure of the English language. — Summary of pre- 
ceding lecture. — The character and destiny of a people determined by their 

religion Illustrated jn the Greeks. — Preservation of the poems of early 

ages, providential. — Necessity of a new species of poetry and art to corres- 
pond with the new civilization, which is compounded of many elements, 
from distinct local centres. — The cultivation of the mechanical and economi- 
cal arts a marked element ; its mother-land Phoenicia. — Injurious tendencies 
of these counteracted by Christianity ; its local centre Judea. — The elements 
of empire and union contributed by Rome. — The elements of state sove- 
reignty, poetry, art, and philosophy, the legacy of Greece. — Purifying and 
elevating influences of Christianity. — The poetry and art of the new civili- 
zation to be thence derived ; of which truth and certitude will be the distin- 
guishing characteristics. — Concluding reflections. 

There is nothing which imprints the truth of an 
observation so well upon the mind as an instance or 
fact in illustration. I had occasion in the last lecture 
to say, that there was less of locality, (or sacredness 
combined with it,) in the religion, in the philosophy, 
or even in the political sentiments of the American 
states, than in those of the Old World. They are re- 
moved by their position on the globe from the natal 



324 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

spots, from the original localities of the primitive ele- 
ments of the civilization which belongs to them. 
Hence it becomes a very remarkable character of the 
nation, that it views all these principles of action more 
abstractly, and far less locally, than is common in older 
communities: the principles themselves are sacred to 
them, rather than their original residences. This I 
showed to be favorable to soberness and practical 
rationality, but not to excitement of fancy or enthusi- 
asm. All the elements of civilization, here floating in 
the vast abyss, have been long since detached from 
their native rocks, and are valued only for their 
intrinsic use. All the elements are purely exotic ; and 
originality and perfection are only to be expected from 
the number and curious composition of them. I no- 
ticed also what a peculiarity it conferred upon the 
civilization of ancient states, that their origin lay 
amidst such obscurity ; so that their divinities became 
the very founders, and local patrons of their nation. 
How wonderfully is this circumstance or feature of 
civilization changed in this country ! Here there have 
been no local divinities, and there is no period of his- 
torical uncertainty amidst which they could abide. 
But an instance will show my meaning here more 
distinctly. I will translate to you a part of a choral 
song from a Greek play, acted before the people of 
Athens three hundred and sixty years before the 
Christian era. And you will take notice how all the 
religion and poetical fancies in it are at once localized 
and nationalized ; — and you will see, from your know- 
ledge of the origin of these states, that such naturali- 
zations here are impossible. Religion is compelled 
here to remain abstract and spiritual, — philosophy, and 
even poetry, also, in a great degree. The chorus sings 
the praises of the Athenians, and their country : 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 325 

O ye sons of Erectheus ! 

Whose renown is famed of old ; 

Ye offspring of the happy gods, 

Who tread the soil of Attica, 

The sacred, the invincible land, 

And breathe the wisdom, bright and clear, 

Diffused through all her soft, her fragrant air : 

O here it was, for so our fathers teH, 

Whence sprung the chaste, the sacred Nine, 

The virgin Muses, thy daughters, 

O beauteous and glowing Harmony ! 

And here, too, Venus, the goddess of smiles, they say, 

When she has sipped of the waters of Cephysus, — 

Our pure, our native stream, — 

Breathes dews and refreshing breezes over all the region; 

And crowning the Loves with garlands of roses,- — 

The Loves, — by Wisdom's side, — 

Hence has sent throughout the land, 

Of every virtue, and each fair deed, 

The sweet, the winning monitors. — {Medea v. 820.) 

Such are the ideas, in a nearly literal translation, 
exhibited in this portion of a choral song, which was 
chanted before a promiscuous audience of Athenians, 
in their crowded theatres. You perceive at once, from 
this single specimen, that their entire religion was local, 
and that the very gods were natives of Attica. And 
this was not altogether a poetical sentiment either, but 
a part of the national superstition. And I need not re- 
mind you that the character of the true religion was at 
first similar, — having a locality, and even nationality, 
in Judea. It was the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and 
of Jacob : — that phraseology was originally taken in its 
most literal acceptation. And it derogates nothing from 
the dignity of our religion that it was so, since all this 
narrowness of a local or national complexion has long 
ago been laid aside, or dropped off itself, when its 
universal and abstract truths were proclaimed at the 
Christian era : — and in the new world there seems a 
probability that whatever speck of localism or material- 



326 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

ism may have since dimmed its proper beauty, shall 
here, sooner than in other countries, fall off. But I 
have by this quotation from Euripides, I hope, now 
rendered more intelligible what I referred to in my 
last lecture. I shall have to recur to the subject in the 
course of this lecture, and shall take occasion to show 
that even the amor patriae here does not refer to any 
particular spot, but is entirely of an abstract nature. 

I make then in the outset this general remark, that 
the elements of civilization are here more detached 
from local circumstances, and assume a more loose and 
abstract character than they have ever any where 
before done. They are also in greater number and 
quantity, as is reasonable to suppose, after so long a 
lapse of ages, and in a government too, which is free, 
and consequently rejects no element of nature which 
has been before tested or ascertained. These are all 
gathered here, or are gathering. This may appear 
more clearly, after some previous remarks which are 
necessary to be made, in order to see in what manner 
nations as well as individuals stand affected by the 
antecedents of the events of their history, — or those 
powers of self-government with which they are en- 
trusted. 

The physical and mental condition of the individual, 
at any one point of his history, may be considered as 
the result of all those influences which have acted upon 
him up to that period. Of course, the controlling 
power of his will and understanding is always the 
most important of these influences, and this accord- 
ingly modifies and so affects the whole as to give a 
unity and individuality, certain and indestructible, to 
that being which he calls himself. 

Analogous with the case of an individual is that of a 
nation, or epoch. The state of a nation, at any one 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 327 

stage of its progress, is the result of that aggregate of 
causes which have at any time affected it, in connection 
still with its own fixed and determinate national cha- 
racter. All that has been done, or undertaken by the 
nation, in any age, however remote, from that in which 
it is viewed, has in some degree influenced its present 
condition. It is this great feature of humanity which 
gives such remarkable and striking contrast to the life 
of the human being, whether considered individually 
or socially, as compared with that of the inferior ani- 
mals. The whole collected good or evil, wisdom or 
folly of the preceding generations light upon that 
which is for the time upon the stage of existence; 
yet not by an uncontrolled law of necessity, but 
from that system of education in which the individual 
or nation is first placed, — in its most impressible state ; 
and from which its whole character, intellectual and 
moral, is ever afterwards tinctured and imbued; but 
still, even over these circumstances, the innate strength 
of the original mind, under the light of heaven, is 
enabled to exert a resistance and control, so as not to 
be subdued, but merely modified or affected by them. 
Consequently, the individual, at his introduction into 
life, is placed under the action of two controlling influ- 
ences, — depressing or elevating ; — these are the tradi- 
tions of his nation, the artificial systems of prescriptive 
action and opinion on the one hand, — and the immuta- 
ble truths of divine relation on the other, whether they 
be inscribed for him on the religion of his country, or 
on the face of nature itself. The individual, and hence 
also the nation, — the aggregate of individuals, — holds 
between these an even balance of freedom, not such 
indeed, that neither shall affect him, but only that 
neither shall affect him by an absolute and blind neces- 
sity; for according to his natural and voluntary dis- 



328 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

position, he may either suffer himself to be pinioned 
down by the maxims and usages of the times, or he 
may ascend, in free choice, to the more perfect stan- 
dards which religion and nature reveal to his reason 
and understanding. 

It is in consequence of this peculiarity of human 
freedom, that after the most exact analysis of the in- 
gredients or materials of the civilization of any period, 
we cannot still predict with certainty what may be the 
future condition of that nation or people. At most, 
we can only take omens, — entertain well-grounded 
hopes, or indulge in apprehensions ; such, we say, has 
been its infancy, such the discipline of its earlier youth, 
and such the signs or tokens of its adolescence; and 
we therefore fear, or therefore hope, that such or such 
will be the future complexion of its history. For we 
cannot shut our eyes to the fact, that nations which 
have promised themselves immortality, have neverthe- 
less sunk into decay, and at last into dissolution ; — the 
dreams and visions of their perpetual duration have 
proved fallacious and groundless. The immortality of 
virtue, of justice, of honor, of pure religion, we have 
every reason to believe, is secured ; but those who seem 
at first marked out their early guardians are often cut 
off as a nation, and disappear from the earth. The seed 
of Abraham endures, and will endure for ever, — but 
only that seed of undecaying truth which was deposited 
in his bosom, — of the unity of God, and the moral and 
pure worship alone acceptable to him. It is this part 
in Abraham only which endures, but transferred now 
to other nations and other climes, — having germina- 
ted long since into a pure and spiritual religion, which 
is intended, no doubt, ultimately to embrace all man- 
kind. And in like manner, the principles of political 
and civil liberty are still youthful and flourishing, 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 329 

although Greece is no longer the soil in which they 
grow; and although the Hollander has ceased to be 
animated now with any other than a most sordid love 
of gain. And even now, should this fair vision of free- 
dom and of a rational and just commonwealth, which 
opens upon the view of mankind, in this land, be over- 
cast, should even the awful fate of ultimate extinction 
await it among our descendants here, — freedom still, 
the sister of justice, and the supporter at once and 
dependent of law, will not herself have perished} — -it 
cannot be ; and even if she leave the earth for a time, — 
the soul and body too, — it will be like the prophet Eli- 
jah, — to return again, at an era however distant, and 
more propitious for the virtues. 

It is not, therefore, for the purposes of national 
eulogy, or to gratify any less worthy feeling, that we 
have taken some pains to trace in several preceding lec- 
tures, the progress and successions of the grander events 
which have prepared the way for modern civilization, 
especially in this continent ; but it is because we con- 
ceive that civilization to be a positive good in itself, and 
designed by a benevolent Creator, for the benefit of the 
whole human family ; and if it should still prove to be 
a blessing and a gift, of which this nation and others 
are unworthy, and therefore only to be shown to the 
world for a day, and afterwards to be withdrawn, but 
still kept in memory and in reserve, for the use and 
exaltation of far distant ages and nations, yet unborn 5 
however this may be, for we know not the future, still 
it will be delightful, meanwhile, to analyse that civili- 
zation, and to inquire whence it has arisen, whereof it 
is composed, and to what it tends. That it is brightly 
revealed now is no certain pledge of its stay ; how beau- 
tifully, how perfectly dawned the light of a sure and 
just taste in letters at Rome, in the minds and in the 

42 



330 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

age of Cicero and of Virgil, yet what barbarism suc- 
ceeded. But we will indulge indeed no such ill fears 
respecting this civilization now at the outset, but speak 
and think of it, at least through this lecture, as if it 
were to endure. 

We might, in tracing out the natural history of man, 
have begun even here at once, with a review and an 
analysis of the elements which enter into the composi- 
tion of the civilization of the nineteenth century, or 
the American civilization, as we may call it, because 
here at least, less impeded, — but such direct analysis 
would not then have been so clearly understood. But 
now, after the survey we have made of the different 
races, and the specifications of the mental characters of 
different ages, it is not difficult to comprehend, that 
certain ingredients from all these have entered into the 
present compound of laws, government, philosophy, 
religion, tones of feeling and habits of thinking, which 
are to a great degree commingled here. And even from 
our dissertation on language and speech, it can be seen 
from the peculiar composition of the Anglican dialect, 
or English language, so compounded as it is, and made 
up of the tributes of so many tongues, and capable, 
from the very looseness of its structure, of such ampli- 
fications hereafter; in this fact alone you can see a 
partial return, a slight flexure towards that more per- 
fect state of mankind, anciently so mystically, but yet 
sublimely imaged in the theological language of 
sacred Scripture : — the whole earth was of one language 
and of one speech ; — this indeed is not an historical, but 
a sacred event, and which we do not therefore histori- 
cally apply ; but surely, if the unanimity and the sacred 
friendship established among all the fraternal tribes of 
mankind, in consequence of the pure worship of the 
one revealed God, could be signified and told by the 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 331 

natural symbol, — one language, — one lip, — we do not 
reason far from the purpose, when we are inclined to 
regard the wide extent, historically, of our national lan- 
guage now, if not an indication, at least something of a 
prediction or sign of a similar happy state of nations 
hereafter. And thus our lecture on language may be 
considered as shedding some light on one of the ele- 
ments of modern civilization, — the tendency to a more 
extended intercourse, through one spoken living lan- 
guage. The Latin and Greek languages have been 
universal, as to the learned ; they have been the bonds 
of the republic of letters and of the church, an exten- 
ded and select civilization; but here is a living lan- 
guage, the language of the people, and therefore of a 
diffused and popular civilization. The English lan- 
guage is a mixed current of the forms of thought of 
the German, French, Italian, Roman, Grecian, Scotch, 
English and Irish nations. It is unnecessary to say 
more ; you see the origin and tendency of this element. 
The Greek language was indiginous, and the civiliza- 
tion which rose with it was tinctured with all the hues 
of native beauty. But it was not gathered widely, nor 
from afar ; and the period of pure originality among 
them was brief; in this view — 

Their pleasures were like poppies spread, 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow-fall in the rivrr, 
A moment white — then melts forever ; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place ; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. 

As the English literature has more combination, it 
may be expected to have greater permanence, — more 
stability, if less beauty, — more phases of originality, if 



332 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

not one of such absolute perfection. The lecture on 
races, and their different mental and moral peculiari- 
ties, will also suggest to you, that by the importation of 
the literature of Asia, or the oriental mental complexion, 
the mind of the modern period has also a supply of 
freshness from this quarter, which the Greek and 
Roman either did not have, or despised ; for in conse- 
quence of contemning all nations but themselves, (in 
their more perfectly civilized state, at least,) they dis- 
dained to borrow from any. As their minds therefore 
bred in and m, according to a well-known law, they 
could not but degenerate in this particular, — especially 
the Romans, — for the Greeks latterly were more 
obliged to extend and vary their language. 

From Asia then, and the feeling and warm fancies 
of that distant quarter of !the globe ; from the Ger- 
man, and their solemn philosophy ; from the French, 
and their quickness and vivacity ; from the Italian, 
and their melody of sound ; from the rustic Scotch 
dialect even, — the English language, and those who 
speak it, consequently, derive compass and breadth 
of expression, and a less inclination than there has ever 
been, of dwindling into local and insignificant thoughts 
and idioms. These are elements of the civilization, in 
the midst of which we live, and which require but to 
be wrought by the hand of industry, by diligent and 
assiduous study, to produce a novel aspect in literature 
and philosophy, in thought and its expression. And 
surely, if the tastes, and perhaps even in some degree, 
the moral feelings of a people, may depend upon the 
style and fashion of dress common in a community, the 
minds of a nation must be in no slight measure modi- 
fied or affected by the perfection or imperfection, the 
polish or the rudeness of that language, — the dress of 
thought, — -which they habitually employ. Why should 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 333 

fathers and mothers be so solicitous to have their sons 
and daughters neatly and tastefully arrayed, as to their 
bodies, and yet neglect that appropriate dress of the 
mind, — pure and grammatical expression. Rely upon 
it, that in the judgment of those whose sentiments we 
should most respect, an ill-selected or vulgar phraseol- 
ogy is a much greater offence against elegance and 
refinement, than tattered and thread-worn clothes. An 
American who loves his country, will take care to pre- 
serve even the purity and integrity of her language ; 
and although these be minor elements of civilization, 
still they are not undeserving of notice. 

But why do I not proceed here at once to that, which 
is the greatest of all, and is the animating principle of 
the whole ? You perceive I mean the Christian reli- 
gion, since that fills all the others, and is their soul in- 
deed. I proceed then at once, to pursue all the parts of 
the last evening's lecture to their full expansion in the 
present, for I intended it as well as that which imme- 
diately preceded, but as the vestibule or introduction, 
to the object of this. Suffer me then to recapitulate 
briefly, and to apply as the recapitulation may suggest. 

The several points discussed or brought under con- 
sideration were these : 

First. — The obscure knowledge or vague impres- 
sions, which existed among the ancient nations, in 
regard to this hemisphere of the earth ; among the most 
remarkable of which, 1 showed you to be those ac- 
counts which Solon the lawgiver of Athens, had 
received from an Egyptian priest on the subject, at 
the time of his visit to that country, to obtain informa- 
tion in regard to its laws and civil usages. It was 
then, that the priest incidentally mentioned the tradi- 
tion that prevailed among them, in regard to the exist- 
ence of a large island in the Atlantic, which had 



334 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

since disappeared, and an extensive continent beyond 
that, which was known to exist, but had not been vis- 
ited. 

Secondly. — I showed that Plato, on the foundation 
of the traditions regarding this subject, (for at the 
time of the imaginary existence of this island, the 
priest also informed Solon, that an ancient city had 
flourished where Athens then stood,) on these com- 
bined traditions, as a basis, Plato had built up his fanci- 
ful republic, that is, a system of government having all 
that perfection and beauty which he supposed a state 
ought to have, in order to be a likeness and just repre- 
sentation of that commonwealth, which he says, exists 
in heaven, but has yet been no where seen on earth ; 
all existing governments being but the accidental 
combination of heterogenous elements, which possess 
neither stability nor justness of proportion. 

Thirdly. — I showed, that from the character of his 
imagined commonwealth, combining of course all those 
principles of perfection, which either his experience, or 
his ideas of right could suggest, — when even this model 
of ideal perfection was compared with the actual theo- 
ry of the government of this country, it could be seen, 
that the science itself of government was much more 
advanced now, than it was then ; and that society had 
made a real progress towards perfection. 

Fourthly. — I proceeded to state, wherein the partic- 
ulars of this improvement and advancement lie ; and in 
what points principally the tone and character of mod- 
ern society differed from that which anciently existed. 
That it did not consist in an actual pre-eminence in all 
respects, but on the whole in a more peaceful and ra- 
tional constitution of affairs. I showed in particular how 
much the very origin of this nation differed from those 
beginnings of old nations, which were involved in mys- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 335 

tery and uncertainty, whereas this has heen begun and 
settled under the clear and positive light of history, 
and ordinary experience. I then called your attention 
to that kind of influence which this peculiarity of its 
early condition was calculated to exert upon the mind 
of the nation, in present and future times ; that it could 
not look back on a period of romantic adventure and 
enterprise, as most of other nations, — that the tenor of 
its path from the first has been one of ordinary motive, 
and every day experience, on which it was impossible 
to build either poetry or romance. That consequently 
a different kind of influence was shed even on the 
cradle of this nation, from what had ever been before 
usual. That reason, common sense, commerce, agri- 
culture, were the deities, whose stern smiles and care- 
worn countenances seemed to welcome in the birth of 
this new nation, and to preside over its destiny. Fancy 
was not there, with poetry by her side, and the sister 
arts; and hardly even religion, in her milder, and 
sweeter, and serener forms, — but she too wore a certain 
grim, and terrible, and severe, although just countenance 
and look, at the time this young nation was ushered into 
being. Such then was the aspect of the constellations 
which presided over the natal hours of this transatlan- 
tic republic. And although we may accord no credit 
certainly to the judicial astrology of the olden time, yet 
this idea, which it involved, was no doubt correct that 
such peculiar influences, as are exerted on the birth 
and origin of things, have ever afterwards an especial 
control over every future period of their history and 
development. The individual or the nation can easily 
shake off and rid itself of those foreign or external 
shocks or disturbances, which it sustains after it has 
attained some strength or maturity ; but those influ- 
ences or circumstances, which have affected it in the 



336 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

first tenderness and imbecility of its original formation, 
leave permanent and ineffaceable characters behind 
them. And of such we may say, with absolute cer- 
tainty, that they will only grow with their growth and 
strengthen with their strength. Those influences, 
therefore, which were exerted at the very settlement 
of this nation, must still continue to operate, as they 
have hitherto operated, and exclude all those dark and 
yet sometimes not unpleasing delusions, which have 
exercised such a powerful sway over the minds and 
manners of other nations. It is plain from the omens 
of its childhood, that this nation and this hemisphere is 
destined to gain all that distinction, which it may ever 
acquire, not from the indulgence of pleasing dreams of 
superstition or delusion, but from the sober, clear, and 
rational voice, and day-visions of truth. This conclu- 
sion I deduced, from the circumstances of the early 
origin of the American states, — as also I showed the 
peculiar features of the national character of the 
Greeks to have resulted from an aboriginal history 
of an entirely different complexion, — a long period 
namely, of national existence on which the lights of 
positive records are not shed, but yet the whole ground 
consecrated and hallowed by the gleams of a pure at 
first, although afterwards, corrupt religion. From 
which it arose, that the nation could trace its descent 
from the gods in the mystic annals of its religion. — 
None can tell, unless those who are deeply read in the 
writings of those times, what vast and peculiar effects 
this popular belief exercises upon the minds of those 
people. Their whole mental life was a dream, — a 
dream of beautiful superstition. Heaven and earth, to 
their imaginations formed one continuous and connec- 
ted whole ; the hierarchy of heaven had its seat on the 
top of Olympus ; and the different divinities had con- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 337 

versed familiarly with their forefathers during the first 
career of these nations, and become the most closely 
and dearly allied with them. Men of dull minds may 
ridicule the fact as they choose ; it will always be found, 
(and philosophy should be the first to acknowledge it,) 
that it is the religion of a people, be that what it may, 
which always the most influences their national char- 
acter, and impresses upon it its peculiar bias. 

However this enigma of human nature may be 
hereafter explained, whatever illustration the light of 
future generations may throw upon it, this much at 
least is certain, that that part of the constitution of 
man, through which he has the sense of religion, is 
that which is the main-spring of the entire character, 
and accordingly as it is touched, or affected, regulates 
and determines all the other movements of his mind 
and history. Change the religion of a nation and you 
change the nation itself; you impress a new modifica- 
tion upon it; and it receives a corresponding form. 
Let a religion, as among the Greeks, spring up from 
the very territory itself, or at least if it be not ab- 
solutely indigenous, suppose it to have run under 
ground, as it were, from so remote an age or coun- 
try, that no one can believe otherwise, than that it 
has originated in the very spot where it is first ob- 
served, and welled out of the earth, perfectly pure 
and uncontaminated, or mixed only with the native 
ingredients of the soil, which render it but the more 
palatable to the national taste ; suppose, 1 say, the reli- 
gion to be thus local and original, and you are certain 
to find a people, most deeply and thoroughly imbued 
with its spirit, and distinguished pre-eminently for all 
that sweet and agreeable fancy, and fine flow of mysti- 
cal thoughts and feelings, which qualify men in a re- 
markable degree, for poetry and the liberal arts, and the 

43 



338 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

pure and innocent enjoyment of life; but are rather 
adverse than otherwise to the invention or improve- 
ment of the mechanical arts, or the deliberate and 
successful cultivation of science. The gods are so near 
to such a people, and so local too, and consequently the 
ideas of them so much associated with all their ordi- 
nary experience and modes of thinking and conversing, 
that they deem it next to foolishness, to seek for truth 
in any other manner, than through a direct intercourse 
with their divinities, and the impressions of their 
thoughts and intelligence, on the minds and souls of 
the nation. Inductive philosophy, the investigation of 
truth, in the way of trial and experiment, and the slow 
accumulation of facts and evidences, seems all too dull 
and prosaic, to their quick and lively apprehensions, 
rendered doubly quick and susceptible by their con- 
tinual and daily converse with these unseen beings, 
peopling every grove, and every fountain and stream 
of their native land. But you perceive that this dispo- 
sition is fostered and encouraged by that very obscurity 
of their early annals, which I have noted as a peculi- 
arity in the nations of the old world, compared with 
those of the new : for by this it came to pass, that they 
could be moulded into any and every form, and the 
first part of their career could be made the foil of the 
mirror, which was to reflect the rising greatness of the 
nations, or the new creeds of religion, which from 
time to time sprung up among them. 

But in all these respects, the new world is circum- 
stanced quite differently: their religion is detached 
from their history ; their history, indeed, from the first 
was, and still continues to be, affected and moulded by 
their religion ; but the converse is not absolutely true, 
namely, that their religion was and is also moulded and 
shaped by their history. The local origin of their reli- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 339 

gion is not in the new world at all; here is neither 
Olympus nor Mount Sion; the ground is no longer reli- 
gious, as it wont to be in the ancient world ; but this 
very peculiarity, combined with the want of the ob- 
scure and mysterious in their origin, has, at once, as I 
have already said, fixed the seal on their national cha- 
racter, and declared the auspices of their whole future 
career. And when I look forwards upon that future 
career, and backwards, on that course which the old 
world has already run ; when as a philosopher, but still 
as a man, I reflect on what Judea, and Greece, and 
early Kome, and the original Gothic nations once have 
been ; when I call to mind their dear, their almost con- 
secrated illusions, their temple songs, their touching 
arts, breathing all of infancy and delight; when 1 
reflect on all that past, so grateful to the imagination 
and memory, and then look forward to this future, 
opening in the new continent, although I must confess 
that the prospect is, upon the whole, certainly much 
more agreeable and consistent with reason, than the 
retrospect has been, showing a vista of advancing cen- 
turies, in which truth, and certitude, and philosophy, 
are more likely to prevail than they have hitherto done ; 
yet nevertheless, the heart clings with a certain fond- 
ness even to those by-gone delusions, if they were indeed 
delusions, and almost dreads those realities, which open 
on the path before us. It is with something of the 
same feeling we see the years of childhood disappear, 
and the approach of manhood visible in the distance. 
And indeed, as it is not possible ever again to have the 
same feelings which we enjoyed in childhood, even in 
the most serene stage of advanced life, so it appears to 
me that there is a certain development in the mind of 
early nations, which can never afterwards be called out, 
even by the most perfect civilization ; a certain play of 



340 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

fancy, a kind of truth, which is only to be known from 
the perusal afterwards of their first rude and infantile, 
but yet most impressive literature. A scholar loves the 
poems of Homer with an attachment somewhat analo- 
gous to that which a grown-up person entertains for a 
child : it is an attachment altogether different from that 
which he feels for one of his own age, but none will 
say that it is less useful to himself, or of less advantage 
to society, than the other. 

And if we might be permitted to express an opinion 
on a subject which lies so far remote from our recogni- 
tion as the divine reasons for the arrangements of the 
mora] world, we might say that it could not have hap- 
pened without the exercise of a special Providence, 
that so many of the early poems of the first ages have 
been preserved ; that thus we might have the opportu- 
nity of seeing those grateful blossoms of the simple 
mind, which are so much unlike, in many respects, 
their future expansions into truth, philosophy, and prac- 
tical reason. I never could trust that man nor woman 
either, and never will, that can be insensible to the sim- 
ple ballads and songs of rude times; there is always 
something wrong in them at the core. For what was 
the art of writing, and latterly, that of printing de- 
signed, but that we might see the beautiful impress of 
the Divine hand on the minds of original society, as 
well as the more regular and distinct characters of the 
moral law, on the codes and constitutions of modern 
nations. 

It is certain, on calm reflection, that the new order 
of society which is now springing up, is preferable to 
that which has in a great measure passed away ; but 
still it would be but a poor symptom of it, if we were 
incapable of doing justice to the past, or if we were 
inclined to think that this new state of society, which 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 341 

is dawning, will be such as to oblige us to reject any 
thing at all which has formerly existed, interesting or 
beautiful, as inconsistent with the genius of the ap- 
proaching epoch. I hope this is not to be gathered or 
inferred from any thing I have said in this, or in the 
preceding lecture. It is true, I speak of the new state 
of society, to which we are tending, as characterized 
and to be marked more with the features of stern and 
uncompromising truth, light, and positive assurance, 
than any that have preceded it ; but although I believe 
and see that such a condition of things will not admit 
of those peculiar kinds of romantic pleasures, derived 
from poetry and the fine arts, which have before existed, 
yet I by no means think that there are not other sour- 
ces of rational and pure delight, of an analogous kind, 
still in reserve for mankind. Mankind cannot exist, 
the sweet charities of society cannot be maintained, 
without some such enjoyments ; but what I maintain 
is, that new fountains of poetry and art must be unsealed, 
which are to correspond with this new state of our 
social condition : I say they must be unsealed, for that 
they have not been opened yet in this nation, is certain. 
There is yet no national poetry here, no liberal art : 
there is poetry indeed, and art, but it is exotic; it 
belongs to the old society which is passing away ) there 
is no poetry, no art, which as yet has sprung from and 
properly belongs to the new world ; there is no poetry, 
no art, differing from all other poetry and art, and as 
much distinguished by the brand of novelty, as, for 
example, are the Declaration of Independence and the 
Constitution of these States, which stand off, as some- 
thing distinct and new, from all other political writings 
or instruments which have before existed. There is 
not a single national song that has taken hold of the 
mind of the people, with the exception of " Yankee 



342 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

Doodle." There are songs, but they are not echoed 
from heart to heart, like the native reverberations of 
mountains, declaring, by that very fact, that they are 
nation-born, — that they are America-born, — that they 
belong to the new society. 

But I doubt not, these fountains of feeling are to be 
found ; I only believe they are not yet unsealed, but 
still to be unsealed. O ! when will the magician go 
out, with his divining rod, and find them, that they 
may gush forth, and refresh the parched land; for I 
believe that the souls of the people want song and 
poetry, or what is analogous thereto, they need a healthy 
excitement, — a nation cannot live without excitement. 
Good music, good songs, good paintings, which were 
all new, and truly native, would do more to cure the 
fanaticism and intemperance of the land, than all these 
artificial societies instituted for such purposes. There 
is a blank in the public mind, which requires to be 
filled up. Would society burst forth so frequently into 
those superstitious ebullitions called revivals, if the 
chords of genuine feeling were struck in the human 
heart, — if the pure tones of devotion were regularly, 
and calmly, and sweetly elicited by the divine touch of 
art, whether the poetical, the musical, or the graphi- 
cal. They should be as original and native, and as 
coincident with the genius of the new era, as were the 
political acts, in every sense, of the worthies of the 
revolution, — the ends, the thoughts and expressions of 
a Hamilton, a Jefferson, or a Madison. 

Let it be observed, then, that when I speak of the 
new state of society which is springing up, as exclud- 
ing certain peculiarities or features of civilization, I 
mean only those features and peculiarities which arose 
naturally, or of necessity, from the circumstances of 
each ancient nation. Those nations were planted and 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 343 

seeded in an obscure era; a mystical uncertainty 
shrouded their beginnings, and thence there hung a 
kind of mist or haze over the whole succeeding period 
of their history; on which, however, (as the sun of 
their national splendor was reflected from it,) there 
were seen all the rainbow hues of poetry and ro- 
mance ; — nay, even the lovely form of their religion 
was reflected to them from the same sources ; for, to 
adopt the language of Cicero, there is no nation so 
rude and barbarous in whose minds there exist not the 
ideas of Divine Power; and surely, if the philosophy of 
Cicero was adequate to the discernment of this fact, 
we, who are instructed by the oracles of an infallible 
religion, ought not to be so blind and infatuated as not 
to know that God has no where left himself without 
a witness, but that there is a certain portion of divine 
light in the religion of every country. 

But such then was their religion ; — always local, — 
always Greece-born, or Rome-born, or Judea-born, but 
ours is none of these, but God-born, — and its language 
is, — neither in this mountain, nor in Jerusalem alone 
shall men worship, but they shall worship — what ? — 
how? — Him, in spirit, and in truth. And it is this 
very circumstance that has conferred, and must con- 
fer a new and entirely distinct character on the civili- 
zation of this country. I repeat what I stated in my 
last lecture, and I do so because it was complained, 
and no doubt justly, that my observations then were 
not understood, nor their bearing on the natural his- 
tory of man perceived, nor yet on the progress of 
nations. What then? — is this new state of society 
which is now beginning, and whose original source 
was local and national, — namely, that fountain opened 
in the House of David, the founder of the Jewish 
monarchy, — a less natural state of man, less in har- 



344 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

mony and consistency with his nature and instinct 
than that other condition of mankind which existed in 
Judea, in Greece, in Phoenicia, in Rome. I say we 
can know nothing as to what is the natural state of 
man but through those documents of his history fur- 
nished to us : and when I look first at Greece and 
Phoenicia, and the ancient state of society, and thence 
at the modern condition of mankind in the new 
world, and when I ask you to look at them together, 
on this side and on that of the picture, from one 
point of view, and then from another, am I not adhe- 
ring to my subject, and bringing those phenomena 
before the mind, from which the actual character of 
human nature can be deciphered, and the vestiges of 
a wonderful plan discovered ? To find human nature, 
am I to go to the woods rather than to cities, or to deal 
out abstractions rather than to expose facts ? To give 
the natural history of the bee, you must explain the 
entire structure of the hive. But what if the entire 
hive of the human race is not yet constructed, — then 
I must describe, and can describe only such parts as 
appear already perfected. 

But you ask me, what the commerce and arts of 
Phoenicia, on which I descanted, had to do with the 
subject? I can now show, what I did then imper- 
fectly. The new civilization which is beginning on 
this continent, and also simultaneously in Europe, 
(here perhaps more conspicuously, from having less 
of the old to contend with,) is a compound of many 
elements, which have been before separately prepared 
in different local centres ; — but now that the whole are 
about being cemented into one, and amalgamated, they 
are disengaged from their various localities ; — and even 
locality itself, as respects the new civilization, is evi- 
dently designed to have a less influence over the des- 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 345 

tinies of mankind, than it has heretofore exercised. 
This I indicated in my tenth lecture, in the melting 
down of so many languages into two on this continent. 

But now as to the different elements of the new 
civilization, and their ancient and primitive centres : — 
let me now indicate them, so that the bearing and rela- 
tions of all the parts be distinctly visible. Recollect 
then that I showed, (in my last lecture,) that a very 
remarkable feature in the face of this civilization which 
is now coming forward here, is the assiduous and ear- 
nest cultivation of the mechanical and economical arts, 
which gives a kind of sober and anti-sentimental aspect 
to our society, but which is nevertheless the very stay 
of our freedom, and the means of the elevation and 
independence of the great body of the people. I noted 
this element of the American civilization as the natu- 
ral, and proper, and true ground or soil in the human 
mind, when cultivated and improved, in which that 
genius of peace, which is the sacred emblem of Chris- 
tianity, and her distinction, could find the best security, 
lodgment, and repose. 

But where was this element of modern civilization, 
the cultivation of the mechanical and economical arts, 
originally evolved ; — which is its mother-land, its local 
centre, for every element that enters into the new civil- 
ization has had a centre, — a first local habitation and 
a name. I carried you forthwith to Phoenicia, three, 
almost four thousand years up the stream of time, — 
and I showed you there, — in Tyre, in her ships and 
in her harbors, and in the workshops of her mechanics 
and manufacturers and dyers, an epitome of Old Eng- 
land and of New, — the genius of commerce, of indus- 
try, of invention, and of improvement in her infancy, 
or rather in the bloom of her prime ; — and I showed 
you a vigorous old man — Herodotus, come westward 

44 



346 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

from Greece, then a new country, to see this nation of 
shop-keepers,- — this old Old England, and he finds there 
a temple of Hercules, which had stood two thousand 
three hundred years, and he is surprised to hear it, and 
he puts many inquiries to the priests and merchants he 
meets with, but he finds the origin and first periods of 
their nation, even to themselves, unknown, — an old 
country even 480 years before the Christian era, but 
to what invention had it given birth, — the art of writ- 
ing, the art which connects the whole history of man 
together, as with a magic spell, and therein you saw, 
and in that wonderful invention, the type of that spirit 
of improvement and love of useful innovation which 
characterized Phoenicia, — which characterizes Old Eng- 
land and New England, — which distinguishes and al- 
ways has distinguished with peculiar emphasis, — that 
marked element of the new civilization, I mean the 
devotion to and cultivation of the useful, mechanical, 
and economical arts. 

Such then was ancient Phoenicia, — such was the seed 
of mechanical usefulness and artizanship, which, as far 
as we know, was originally deposited there by the hand 
of God himself ; and has been thence transplanted into 
this country, here to germinate, we hope, under far 
better influences, and to expand, and blossom, and bear 
fruits, to the good of mankind. There is, however, in 
these arts, that which, while they improve the head 
and sharpen the ingenuity and sober the man, may 
also, unless there are shed good influences, contract the 
heart, deaden the affections, and freeze the genial cur- 
rent of the soul. 

But hard-by Tyre, — the mother-land of these, the 
economical arts, — it might be fifty or an hundred miles 
east and south, there stood a city, famed of old, and its 
name has been known and heard afar; — it was the city 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 347 

of Jerusalem, the metropolis of Palestine. In this 
ground was deposited, and in this land, also by the 
hand of God, a plant of fair renown, and of far diviner 
virtues, than this of commerce or of art, whether that 
were the mechanical or the liberal ;— and as thus the 
bane and antidote then grew so near together that it 
might almost seem as of Divine intention, (and a Di- 
vine lesson,) — that art, when it became evil, might 
thus receive its correction from religious good, so also 
I should imagine, now that both have been transferred 
into this country, — transplanted in this soil, — the 
seeds of arts renowned, and of a religion sublime as 
heaven, and pure as its Author, they should ever be 
encouraged and made to grow side by side, or not far 
apart, that the evil of the one may ever be cured by 
the good of the other : — that when commerce, and art, 
and mechanism would begin to blunt, or deaden the 
fine feelings of the mind, — to engender either fraud, or 
to contract the soul, then Christianity, with her ten 
commandments, not fifty miles east, but even nearer, — 
may come in to correct, and with her songs and her 
music to soften the heart. 

You see now then a connection between Judea and 
Phoenicia, and Old England and New England, and all 
this continent and hemisphere, — and between era 490 
B. C. and era 1837 after it. And lest you should 
imagine that the connection is accidental and fanciful, 
and not real, you can actually now see and hear, that 
the mind and invention of Cadmus, in the art of wri- 
ting, has a close and unbroken connection with what I 
am now doing ; for I could not now be gathering up 
the ideas marked on the paper before me, had not that 
illustrious art been invented. 

But how is this? since the generations of men are 
constantly being swept from the earth, and even 



348 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

nations themselves are mortal, (for the Phoenician is 
now no more,) — who or what perpetuates the grand 
design, who or what presides over each adjustment, 
and connects even the overthrow and destruction of 
men and their works, with the perpetuation, with the 
integrity, of the same plan, with the same unblemished 
unity of purpose, from epoch to epoch ? Who, — what 
does this ? Can you tell me ? This is the enigma to 
be solved by the study of the history of man ; and it 
can be solved when a light is shed on it from above, — 
but not otherwise, for the solution belongs to theology, 
and not to science, and therefore falls not within the 
scope of these lectures. But I spoke of Greece and 
Rome also, in my last lecture, and what connection 
had they with the subject ; — had they any ? They had 
some, you may see, if you will fix your eyes again on 
the new civilization, rising like a mighty river, amid 
the mists of the morning, as you have approached it 
from the mountain-tops, and that river, too, fed from 
the sources of a thousand rills, and rolling onwards to 
mingle its tribute also with a stream still more majes- 
tic than itself. I have shown you then two sources 
already from which this new civilization has been 
derived — Judea and Phoenicia ; — the one the fountain 
of pure Christianity, the other a stream of more dubious 
hue, but still capable of purification — the arts, — the 
commerce, — the soberness, — the business-spirit of Phoe- 
nicia. 

And what did Greece and Rome for us ? 1 am to 
tell, but first let me say, that the commercial spirit, the 
spirit of trading, was mastered by the spirit of war in 
the ancient world. Rome destroyed Carthage — Phoe- 
nicia revived ; and the interpretation of that historical 
event into the language of philosophy is this, — that in 
ancient times the military spirit triumphed over the 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 349 

commercial spirit, and extinguished it. Rome con- 
quered Carthage, and blotted her out from the map of 
cities and metropolises. How is it in the new hemi- 
sphere in the nineteenth century? The reverse has 
happened, at least for a time ; Carthage has destroyed 
Rome. The commercial spirit already has here levelled 
the military spirit, and it will do the same in England 
also before long ; this fact, however, is no part of the 
good and new civilization, but rather of the old, for 
the new civilization, as it advances, will save both the 
military and commercial spirit ; and Rome as well as 
Carthage will be rebuilt, and a new lord appointed over 
both, — I mean the genius of peaceful yet energetic 
Christianity ; and war is energy. I have not time to 
explain my ideas more fully on this subject ; you can 
take the hint, and reason it out. But you see already 
what element in the modern civilization I consider due 
to Rome; it is the element of empire, of union, of 
strength ; the stupendous fact, which the whole history 
of Rome presents from her beginning to her end, that 
it is practicable that many nations be cemented under 
one government, — and that when there is such a unity, 
the force, the power, is sublime and tremendous, con- 
ferring upon every individual of such an empire, as it 
were, the grandeur and energy of millions. Every 
Roman citizen, in consequence of this prevailing idea 
of the mighty empire, was himself a host, — Romanus 
civis sum, — but that union was local, selfish, and at 
last infernal, and therefore it was dissolved. But 
this practical exhibition of the possibility of such a 
union, and the power that resulted from it, is be- 
queathed as a legacy of useful reflections to posterity, 
and will not be lost, in the ulterior developments of 
the new civilization here. Union is here the word : 



350 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

let them study how Rome became one, and whence at 
last many, — and was numbered and finished. 

Then as to Greece; — I also spoke of Greece in my 
last lecture, and perhaps did not distinctly signify 
her relation to the subject of it. It can now rea- 
dily be done. The contributions of Greece to the 
modern elements of society, are perhaps greater and of 
more value, than those of any other nation. True 
indeed, she does not contribute of her own native blood 
to the stream which now circulates through the veins 
and arteries of the population of this country, or of 
England, Germany, France or Spain. The Greeks 
have not emigrated, but what has been of vastly more 
consequence, their own beautiful language and high- 
thoughted philosophy has emigrated, and repeopled 
with the ideas and the impressions of beauty and of 
nature, the entire mind of the civilized world. If she 
has herself constituted no part of the flood or the tide 
of population, that has been pouring itself all over this 
hemisphere, yet the genius of her literature and philo- 
sophy, so to speak, has proved that sweet and purifying 
breeze, which has fanned the waters, and made them 
glitter playfully and smilingly in the light of day. 
There is something naturally dull and phlegmatic, 
although ponderous and strong, in the Anglo-Saxon 
mind ; but the scholars of the race have derived light- 
ness and spirit from the genius of Greece. But why 
need I dwell upon this topic, since it is well known 
that it is her language also which is the divine vehicle 
of the truths of the New Testament ; and her repub- 
lics again, so numerous, and each a little centre of civi- 
lization and originality within itself, contribute also an 
almost inexhaustible store of valuable illustrations and 
arguments, for those who will advocate in this land, 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 351 

(and I hope none such will ever be wanting,) the para- 
mount importance of state sovereignties, in order to 
the full expansion of the varied mind of the nation, — 
this confederated empire, — that it may be what its 
motto expresses, not a mere unum, but e pluribus 
unum. 

But if there was any poetry, any art in Greece, any 
philosophy, she contributes also that. What then, for 
servile imitation? I have shown, in my last lecture, 
and I show now, it cannot, it must not be. Especially 
as to poetry, — as to the sources whence fancy was fed, 
the religious instinct was refreshed and invigorated in 
Rome and in Greece. Now the whole circumstances 
are entirely changed, — the horizon of the national mind 
is altogether different. I need not recur to that topic 
again; 1 would but weary you. But this much you 
may clearly see, that the sources from which the whole 
of humanity is now to be nourished all over the civili- 
zed world, — emphatically Christendom, — are far more 
numerous, and brightly and purely flowing, — and espe- 
cially on this account, that an angel has descended and 
healed the waters. O ! need I tell you what angel ! 
The whole bright and augmenting river, which erst 
began to flow from the foot of Zion hill, and for nearly 
three hundred years flowed on so quietly and almost 
obscurely through the valleys and recesses of the Roman 
world, — that stream, I say, which has been running 
onwards, and spreading widely withal, and calling up 
verdure and beauty on all its banks, for these now 
eighteen hundred and thirty-seven years, — O ! that 
stream best can tell what angel that was, whose power 
divine first unsealed its fountain, and has ever since fed 
it so copiously; I will not tell, lest my account of it 
should obscure its glory. I would only show and revert 
to what 1 have before spoken of; that it is on the banks 



352 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

of this stream, beneath the umbrage of this river, and 
not on any merely local or historical rills of fabled or 
prosaic deeds of the nation, achieved long since, or in 
'76, that must start into existence the spirit of Ameri- 
can poetry and American eloquence, or American libe- 
ral art; for that poetry, that eloquence, that art, in 
order to be any thing, to be new, to be original, to be- 
long to the continental and good civilization, must have 
issued, and issue still from the same sources, whence 
have come the laws, the constitutions, the freedom of 
the country. And I should be merely telling you a 
thousand-times repeated truth, to say that all these have 
come from the influence, and genius, and energy of the 
Christian faith. 

But poetry, to he poetry suited to the new civiliza- 
tion, must lay aside her cow-hells, her jingling rhymes, 
and talk no more about chivalry and kings, or sing of 
battles and butcheries, and animal things, but she must 
appeal to higher standards, and try whether or not she 
might not catch inspiration, — even the inspiration of a 
truer melody, from truth herself, surely not unfit to 
take the place, and fill it well, even of all the nine 
muses ; and so I think must it be also in regard to all 
the other liberal arts. They must cease, all of them, 
to embody delusions ; they also must catch the inspira- 
tion of the new epoch, and seek for truth and certi- 
tude. If these both are not to be found in nature and 
Christianity, and enrobed in vestments of beauty too, fit 
to strike and captivate the heart, it is because mankind 
have not yet discovered the art of finding them. And 
here now, therefore, I will retract some regret 1 expres- 
sed in the first part of this lecture. 1 said, as I looked 
back upon the past ages, and that infantile and tender 
species of civilization, which the rude history of most 
European nations show, and called up to memory the 



NATURAL HISTORY OP MAN. 353 

more pleasing illusions connected with it, that I felt 
some regret and sorrow to abandon them, — these idols, 
about which the affections have clung, — and to enter 
on that new career of truth and certain revelation, 
which is now opening on the world. 

But I now fling all such regrets aside ; for the voice 
of truth and nature, if we once could hear it, must 
surely be more pleasing than all other sounds, and no 
music can equal her's, and no art surpass the art of 
justly expressing her ; — and if at first we should not 
think so, but still the strains of delusion should fall 
more seraphic on the ear, and the idols of the fancy be 
more bewitching to the eye, it can only be, because 
our eye and ear are both misled, have both been cor- 
rupted, by what is false and hollow and deceptive. In 
fact, we may regard this period in which we live, as 
both peculiarly fortunate, and unfortunate. — It is for- 
tunate for mankind and succeeding generations, as they 
will enter on a career less impeded and embarrassed by 
former errors, — less disposed to look at religion through 
its sects, at government through factions, at nature 
through theories, and at thoughts through words; but 
will have entered into closer communion with God, 
and their country, and nature, and mind ; it will be 
therefore so far more fortunate for them. — But for us it 
is less so, for we have been educated in a great measure 
under a burden of prejudices, which our affections 
cling to, even after our reason has rejected them, so 
that what we would, we do not, and that which we 
would not, that we do. 

But we shall soon leave the stage; we shall soon 
have eaten, and drunk, and lived our full ; — and with 
cheerfulness and contentment will leave that legacy to 
our posterity, which we ourselves have inherited, for 
thus it is designed to pass from hand to hand, and 

45 



354 LECTURE THE TWELFTH. 

happy is that nation, happy that people, who have 
transmitted it unimpaired to those who succeed, — 
happier still, when adorned and improved by new 
lights, derived from the God of nature, and the Lord 
of the Christian religion. It is a fixed law of the life 
of man, that he is born into this world, to be educated 
himself, and it seems also to be a design of nature, 
(although sometimes thwarted for wise ends,) that he 
should also live, till his youngest child shall come of 
age. This is that fixed bourne for all that live, — the 
three-score, or the three-score and ten. He that has 
reached it, may resign his life with cheerfulness into 
the hands of his Creator; he has fulfilled his natural 
destiny, for thus "closes very beautifully and naturally 
the last chapter of the physical history of man, as an 
individual ; — the progress of the race is not retarded. 

Whether this also, physically speaking, has a certain 
period of ultimate perfection, beyond which physically, 
it may not proceed, and whether or not it may be de- 
signed to remain there in a certain youthful maturity, 
neither receding nor advancing, on this side of the goal 
of nature ; — whether this may be so, or whether even 
races and nations of mankind have a certain limited 
career to run, when failure, and fading, and even ulti- 
mate evanishment may await them, to give place to 
other races and nations, to instate original and new 
truths, the vicegerents of Deity in the world of nature, 
— to glorify his name forever, through endless succes- 
sions of generations and races of men, each adding new 
illustrations to the train of his visible acts of goodness 
and of wisdom, — these I say, and a thousand other 
questions are problems, which we have not a glimmer- 
ing of light to solve, and it were even impious to try at 
the solution of them. Enough for us to know, that 
when the last chapter of the natural history of man is 



NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN. 355 

closed, — a new chapter of a spiritual is discovered, — 
the book is opened, — even the hook of life, — the second 
birth of heaven and earth : — 

Awakening- nature hears 
The new creating word, — and starts to life 
In every heightened form, from pain and death 
Forever free. 

I return my thanks to those who have honored these 
lectures by their attendance ; — I regret they have been 
so little worthy of such attention. Whatever light or 
truth has been visible in any of them, I ascribe to the 
fountain itself of truth, and illumination, — the Chris- 
tian religion, and Him, who is its Author. 



THE END. 



<rr 



195 



